


Martin Blackwood Tries to Save the World (and Drags Jon with Him)

by TheRealAndian



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, And two Martins, Angst, As if anything I write could have anything but angst, Body Horror, Canon Asexual Character, Canon-Typical Horror, Canon-Typical Worms, Depression, Dissociation, Elias is a bastard, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Existential Dread, First Kiss, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I am trash for this series, Idiots in Love, It's definitely not confusing, Jon and Martin are dumb and in love, M/M, Not Beta Read, POV Alternating, Post MAG-160, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, There are two Jons now, Time Travel Fix-It, and they were ROOMMATES, angsty fluff, jonmartin, minor possession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 29,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22319470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealAndian/pseuds/TheRealAndian
Summary: It's the end of the world, and Jon and Martin have no idea how to fix it. That is, until a suspicious door lands them unsuspectingly in the past, long before the apocalypse. Now they have to work together with their former coworkers and their younger selves to stop the Magnus Archives from being completed, and maybe even admit their feelings for one another.
Relationships: Helen & Martin Blackwood, Jonathan Sims & Sasha James, Martin Blackwood & Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James, Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Sasha James & Tim Stoker, Tim Stoker & Jonathan Sims
Comments: 416
Kudos: 1194





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trash for this series. I've written more of this fic than I've written in my own book in a single day. Not sure if I'm impressed or disappointed.
> 
> For all the angst in the tags, it's not the most depressing thing I've ever written, though. Jon and Martin are just too damn relatable.

“Martin? Martin! Wake up, Martin!”

Rough, scarred, shaking hands jostled him, but he was floating on ocean waves of nightmares and wasn’t quite sure if he was even real anymore.

“Martin!”

A wave crashed into him, bringing with it the feeling of dread he’d become so accustomed to. It seemed strange, though. Oddly muted. Was it really there? Was he really real? His heart began to beat faster.

“Martin! Please wake up!”

He blinked back the bleary unconscious world he’d gotten so used to. He wasn’t in the Lonely anymore. He wasn’t even in the Archives. He was in Daisy’s safehouse. With Jon.

Jonathan Sims, of all people. It would have made him smile if it weren’t for the rough-yet-gentle hands shaking him out of his slumber.

“Martin?”

“Mnnn,” Martin groaned, reaching his hands up to rub the sleep from his eyes. He didn’t even remember falling asleep to begin with.

He heard Jon sigh. “Thank Christ, Martin. I thought you’d died on me for a moment.”

The pain in Jon’s voice struck him as odd, but he supposed that after pulling the two of them out of the Lonely, he probably didn’t particularly like the idea of Martin dying. He’d come in to save him, after all.

And then, of course, there was the apocalypse.

A tremor ran up his spine. He’d held Jon for what felt like hours, watching as the sky watched him back. He should’ve been terrified. Scared, at the very least. After all, _Jonathan Sims_ had been in his arms, shaking, laughing with hysteria before breaking down and sobbing harder than anyone he’d ever seen before. Instead, all he’d felt was that quiet dread, accompanied by that sort of sadness that only comes when you’ve known that nothing good could ever happen to you. The very sadness that had followed him for so long, he would almost call it an old friend.

Jon’s hands pulled him up into a sitting position, then his arms wrapped around Martin’s body, squeezing tightly. Neither of them said a word. This had become oddly commonplace between the two of them. A silent embrace. For all of Jon’s sharp angles and edges, he was a surprisingly comforting presence. He almost seemed to completely soften, but maybe that was just Martin projecting.

He was a bit disappointed when Jon let go a few minutes later, but the feeling lingered. The unspoken agreement that they weren’t going to leave each other. When had that happened? When they had left the Lonely? Sometime after? Before then?

He supposed it didn’t matter. This was his life now. This was... _their_ lives now.

“Are you all right?” Jon asked. The gentle compulsion to tell him the truth brushed against his mind, and he leaned into it, just as he would an old friend. At least, he would if he had any left, although he supposed that Jon was an old friend. Something like that, at least.

“Not really,” he murmured, absentmindedly brushing a strand of Jon’s hair from the man’s eyes. He’d always had such beautiful eyes. Mesmerising eyes.

Jon winced. “Sorry,” he said, reaching up to take Martin’s hand before he could drop it back to his side.

Martin chuckled and squeezed his hand. “I answered on my own, Jon.”

“I still need to be more careful about...asking anything.”

“Maybe.”

They sat there for a moment, just holding hands and avoiding each others’ eyes. Martin wished he could say he wasn’t content, but this was the happiest he’d been in a very long time. Apocalypse be damned.

Although it seemed odd, suddenly, that he couldn’t hear the sound of flesh monsters wriggling their way past the cabin, or the chatter of insects behind their door, or even feel the ever-hungry gaze of the eye on his back. All that seemed to be truly _there_ was Jon. Jon and his warm, soft, yet calloused and scarred hand over his own.

Another shudder passed, but this one wasn’t from apprehension.

“Where are we?” he finally asked.

Jon pursed his lips. He always looked adorable when he did that. “I’m not sure,” he admitted.

That was...odd. “You don’t Know?”

“No. No I do not.”

Martin looked around. This wasn’t even the cabin, he realised with a start. They were somewhere completely different. Underground, maybe? They hadn’t been taken by the Buried, had they? No, no, this was different. There was something...familiar about this place.

Oh! “How did we get into the tunnels?” he asked.

Jon blinked, glancing around at their surroundings in the light of his phone’s torch. So _that’s_ why he could see. “You...you’re right,” he muttered, getting to his feet. “We’re in the tunnels below the Archives.”

“Okay, but _how_? We were in Scotland!”

“So we were.”

Martin followed his clouded gaze, just catching sight of a familiar aged wooden yellow door before it completely vanished. “Oh…”

“Why would she send us here?” Jon mused, getting to his feet.

“Why does she ever do anything?” Martin countered, also standing. His legs swayed beneath him, and he almost felt as if he were back in the Lonely again. Thankfully, Jon was very reassuringly solid.

Jon snorted. “I see your point.”

“I guess we should head up to the Archives then?”

“Sounds as good as anything else.”

The two of them wandered through the tunnels, hand in hand in the light of Jon’s phone. The knowledge that Eli- _Jonah Magnus_ was somewhere down there, probably watching and laughing at them kept them both tense and quiet. Maybe he was the one that sent Helen to bring them here, so he could kill the two of them and cement his whole ‘king of the world’ scheme.

“You’re shaking, Martin,” Jon whispered, his hand moving up Martin’s arm and pulling him a bit closer. Thank God for small comforts. He leaned into the touch a bit.

“Just remembering.”

He didn’t need to specify what.

“Do you know where we’re at, Jon?”

“We’re in the tunnels under the Archives, Martin,” he smirked. At Martin’s pout, he snickered. “Of course I do. The Archive exit should be just up here on the left.”

And so it was. Sometimes it helped to have someone who could literally Know whatever they wanted. They tiptoed up the stone stairway, spiralling upward. Jon muttered something about Helen making the way feel longer, but it seemed pretty much normal.

It was just before they reached the trapdoor that Martin noticed something in the sharp fluorescence of Jon’s phone. Panic surged through him, and he almost tackled Jon to the ground.

“Martin! What th-!”

Jon saw it now, too, and both of them rushed at it before it could get any further. The worm squished in only a way that those disgusting things could. Jon’s leg bled where it’d started to wriggle its way in.

They shone the phone around the rest of the stairway, then looked each other over very carefully. No more worms were found, but that didn’t help their unease.

“Makes sense, I suppose,” Jon said, biting his lip, “now that the Corruption is here in full force.”

Martin wordlessly placed his arm over Jon’s shoulder and helped him limp the rest of the way up the stairs.

The trapdoor didn’t open as smoothly as he remembered, but he decided that that didn’t matter much. What mattered was getting Jon the first-aid kit. Or maybe a statement, although they’d both decided after the _last_ time that there would only be statement-reading when absolutely necessary.

He did look hungry, though.

Besides, it wasn’t like they could make anything worse than it already was.

The Archives looked...different. Almost as if a whirlwind had passed through the place. Papers laid discarded on the floor, and books were stacked in the corners covered in dust and cobwebs. If Martin didn’t know any better, he’d have thought that the Archives had never been cleaned up after Gertrude had been murdered. He scoffed at the thought. He and Jon, plus all the others, had sunk countless hours into tidying the place up. It probably only looked like that because of the fight with the Hunters.

He sure hoped Daisy was okay. No one had heard from her in quite a while.

“Martin…,” Jon murmured. “Is it just me, or does this place look...different?”

“Not just you,” Martin replied, not even acknowledging the question until after he’d answered it. Thank God he had nothing to hide. Not from Jon, at least. “It’s probably from the attack.”

Jon’s face tightened in frustration. “Sorry. I need to stop asking you things.”

Martin grinned, fighting the urge to reach out and pinch Jon’s cheek. “Don’t worry about it.”

The two of them pulled themselves out of the stairwell and closed the trapdoor behind them. The latch clicked just like it had all the other times they’d done it, but something still seemed...off. Like the door hadn’t been used in ages. That was ridiculous, of course; they’d only just used it before they’d fled to Scotland.

A disturbing thought pushed its way to the front of his mind. “You don’t think Helen...kept us, do you? Like, trapped us in the corridors for years or something?”

Jon ran his finger across a bookcase, leaving a dramatic mark in the dust. He brushed it off him and wrinkled his nose. “I certainly hope not.”

“Well this didn’t get here overnight.”

He glanced at the cobwebs in the corners. “Maybe the Web decided to set up shop here,” he muttered, his dark eyes flitting around and scanning everything.”

“Could you...could you See?” Martin asked.

Jon took a slow, deep breath. He eyes were closed, but he could _feel_ Jon’s power reach out and touch reality. It was enough to shake him to his core.

It was exhilarating.

At least, until Jon fell flat on his face, moaning in pain.

“Jon!? Jon!”

“Ow…”

“Are you okay!? What did you See?”

Jon looked up at him wearily, graciously taking Martin’s outstretched hands. He looked sick. “W-we’re not...I…”

If Jon was speechless, then this was bad.

“Stay right there. I’ll make you some tea from the breakroom.”

Jon’s hands tried to tighten around his before he let go, but he was shaking too badly. “Martin, wait!” he cried. “D-don’t!”

Martin opened the door, only to find a very familiar face staring back at him. Younger, a bit heavier, less exhausted, but very familiar all the same.

Martin slammed the door in the man’s face and locked it. He backed away as fists pounded on the door, almost tripping over a stack of books. He looked at Jon. “What the hell.”

Jon struggled to his feet, and Martin realised with a pang of guilt that he should’ve been helping him. He looked so tired. And scared. A nervous hand ran through his thin salt-and-pepper hair. “I...I do believe we’ve gone back in time.”

The door crashed open, and Martin stared in complete shock at his younger self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I'm not actually English, but I'm using English spellings instead of American ones because American spelling is usually dumb. If you see a misspelling, though, that'd probably be why.
> 
> Also, what's better than one (1) Martin Blackwood? Why, _two_ (2) Martin Blackwoods, of course!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY GOOD COWS!! The amount of interest you guys are showing in this fic is awesome! I really hope it lives up to your expectations!

It had taken them quite a while to calm this other Martin down enough to let them explain. The man kept shooting nervous glances at Jon, his eyes running over his scars. So many scars. He was almost surprised by the pang of jealousy ran through him. This was  _ his _ Jon! This other Martin could get his own, and stay away!

That was dumb. Really, really dumb.

Jon did his best to explain everything. Who they were, how they got there, the normal sort of thing. Meanwhile, Martin studied his counterpart. There was no indication that he’d been trapped in his apartment by Jane Prentiss yet, so that was a good sign. Judging by the tea stains on his jumper, he guessed that he might have only recently started at the Institute. How long ago, that felt. So very long ago.

During a time when Tim and Sasha were still alive.

“Martin!” he exclaimed, his own name sounding weird coming off of his tongue. “Do you have any pictures of you and the others?”

The other Martin looked taken aback. “I um...I mean, I  _ think _ so. Should I?”

“Can you show me?”

Jon seemed to catch on right away. “Yes, please. Can you show us?”

Martin shot him a wry look, but Jon seemed to have completely forgotten that he could compel people with his questions. Genuine excitement brightened up his face in a way that Martin didn’t have the privilege of seeing often.

The other Martin pulled out his phone and started sifting through the endless pictures of dogs he saw at the park and a stray cat he always saw outside the Institute. Martin missed those pictures; he’d deleted them as a sign of loyalty to the Lonely. The memory twisted in his gut. He did have pictures of cute cows, at least.

Finally, the other Martin found a picture of Tim, Sasha, and himself, with an angry Jon in the corner wearing a party hat as they all celebrated their new jobs. Martin grinned like an idiot. It was the first time he’d ever met any of them, and he distinctly remembered it being a fantastic day. After all, he’d met Jon!

Sasha, though. She looked like a complete stranger. Nothing about her was what he remembered, and he couldn’t help but sigh from the sadness. Damn that creature taking her and making them all forget her. She looked like a lovely person.

And Tim! He couldn’t remember ever seeing him that happy. His arms were draped over Sasha’s and a bashful Martin’s shoulders. His grin lit up the entire room.

He missed him. He missed both of them, even this Sasha that he didn’t know.

He jumped back in surprise when a drop of water landed on the phone screen. Was he crying? What would this other Martin think, seeing his older self crying at the sight of his coworkers!? He’d think all sorts of horrible things happened. Sure, they  _ had _ , but that wasn’t the point! Then he saw the tears on Jon’s face, too, and he broke.

The past year, he’d been so horribly alone. His friends were dead, Jon had been in a coma, and Peter Lukas had decided to make him Lonely. And even after Jon had woken up, he couldn’t see him. Couldn’t bear to. Not with what he thought he needed to do. And then everyone else had drifted away, there was Elias taunting him from prison, and he was alone.

A scarred hand reached out to him and pulled him close. It was one of those moments where Martin wished Jon was a bit taller, or maybe that he himself was a bit shorter. Regardless, being held by Jon was always so comforting. It occasionally made him forget why he was sad to begin with. Not this time, though. He held onto the image of Tim grinning like he’d just won the lottery, and this new Sasha with her long dark hair and round face. He held onto the memory of Jon slinking around like a drowned cat the entire time, frustrated and slightly amused, but not the tired, sad, and broken Jon he knew now.

Things had been so much simpler back then.

“A-are you guys okay…?” the other Martin asked, a nervous tremor hitching his voice.

Martin turned and looked at his counterpart. “No,” he said. “No we’re not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that this was a much shorter chapter, but I felt like it _needed_ to be broken up like this. I'll try to post the next chapter tomorrow, though, just to make up for it a bit more. And sorry for the angst!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11PM IS STILL TODAY  
> Also, enjoy Jon's POV. He is sad. Please give him a nap.
> 
> (TW: Dissociative episode, suicidal thoughts, self-hatred)

Jon clutched at Martin, desperately needing his comfort. He knew Martin needed comforted too, and nothing was going to keep him from doing that. They were both trying to hold back tears, but the sight of their dead friends so happy, and their younger selves looking so young and innocent...it was so hard. He missed them, even the Sasha he didn’t know.

With Martin’s arms wrapped around him, the heat from his body radiating into him, he knew he was safe. He was secure in those arms, listening to the beat of his heart. How had they gotten so close so suddenly? He could still scarcely believe it.

He also couldn’t quite believe that they were actually in the past. Perhaps Helen had used her powers of Distortion and sent them back through a corridor of time, rather than of space. But why? The apocalypse was something she wanted too, right?

So many questions burned inside of him, and he fought down the hunger trying to claw its way out of him. He needed to focus. He needed to be logical and calculated. Being in this time was just as dangerous as being in the one he’d come from, especially if he was at risk of meeting himself. There would be too many questions, and although he didn’t think he could compel anyone to answer them yet, he still didn’t want to entertain the idea of needing to resist himself.

Then, of course, there was the matter of Elias. Jonah Magnus had yet to reveal himself to be the complete bastard that he hated so much. He might be able to take advantage of that, but he didn’t know for sure. At least he knew he couldn’t trust a word he said.

“A-are you guys okay…?” Martin’s voice asked. Not _his_ Martin, though. This younger one--the one that wasn’t forged by fire and blistering pain. The one that still had a friendly, gentle, and almost carefree life in his eyes. Sure, _his_ Martin was like that as well, but there was always something deeper, hidden underneath. A jolt of anger burned through him. People had hurt Martin, and he didn’t like that. No one was allowed to hurt Martin. Not even him.

_Definitely_ not him.

He’d compelled Peter Lukas to death. What if he hurt Martin the same way? What if he compelled him to stay with him against his will?

Well, he just wouldn’t. It was as simple as that.

Probably.

Martin turned his head to look at his younger self, his warm head leaning up against Jon’s neck. He couldn’t suppress the shiver of joy he felt from it, either.

“No,” Martin, _his_ Martin, said. “No we’re not.”

Loathe as he was to admit it, he couldn’t help but agree.

“Is there anything I can do? To...to help?”

Dear, sweet Martin. He’d always been the kindest of all the Archives staff. Even if he hadn’t met the old Sasha yet, he knew Martin still bested her. Martin bested everyone.

Not that he had the courage to say that.

Funny how he could go and cause the apocalypse, but still couldn’t tell Martin how he really felt. He already knew Martin’s feelings, and deep down he hoped that Martin just _understood_ without Jon ever needing to say anything. It was a pile of bullshit excuses, but it’d been pretty effective thus far. He was going to have to say it someday, though. Maybe once they figured things out a bit more. Namely, what they were supposed to do in the past.

“There is _one_ thing,” the Martin in his arms replied. “I think we could all use a nice hot cup of tea!”

Jon laughed out loud.

The tea was indeed very nice. According to younger Martin, it was about eight in the evening. When questioned about why he hadn’t left yet, his freckled face turned bright red and he didn’t look at them as he muttered something about waiting around for Jon to go home, only to find the two of them and discover that _his_ Jon had already left.

Jon crossed his arms at the thought of precious Martin waiting on him, pining away while he sat in his office completely oblivious, then leaving without him knowing. What a horrible person he’d been.

Not that he was much better now, though. His eyes darted around the dully lit breakroom. He remembered it, certainly, but it was nice to see everyone else’s things lying there, rather than left in a closed box somewhere where no one dared to touch them because they couldn’t bear the memories any more than they could bear the reality without them any longer.

He never realised how much he cared about these people until they were already gone. How depressing was that?

At least he still had Martin. Martin, who dearly loved him, who worried and fussed over him, who kept him calm, and whom he could trust.

Someday he would tell him. Just...not yet. Now wasn’t the time.

“Jon?”

He looked up from his now-empty mug. “Yes? What?”

“You had a bit of a weird expression,” Martin said, concern leaking into his voice.

Jon smiled sadly. “Just remembering.”

He decided that he ought to do something a bit more proactive than sitting there and staring at an empty mug, though, so he stood and took his mug plus the two Martins’ mugs and carried them to the sink in the back. He pretended not to see the other Martin lean closer to his Martin, and _very much_ tried not to hear him ask “Are you guys dating?”

Instead, he fled to the back and tried to cool down the blush on his face. It wasn’t like he was _opposed_ to it. In fact, he thought it might be quite nice! But, well...he didn’t deserve Martin. _No one_ deserved Martin, but _especially_ not him. And plus, there were...things that even _he_ didn’t want to know about, and he knew it would probably disappoint Martin. He didn’t want to do that. If that meant simply staying close friends, then he supposed that he would have to live with that. All he knew with absolute certainty was that he would do anything for this man, even if it killed him.

In fact, it’d probably be better if he _did_ get himself killed. Martin could move on and find someone else to cherish. Someone who appreciated him even more. Someone who deserved him a bit more. Someone who was actually _human_.

That thought left a distinctly bitter taste in his mouth. Who was he kidding, anyway? All this thought of love, or a future with Martin, or _any_ of it? It didn’t mean anything; he was a monster. He would hurt Martin, even if he didn’t mean to. He would pull out every story Martin had ever had until his hunger was satisfied, and then he would leave him. That’s how these things went. It was only a matter of time.

He didn’t realise he’d crushed one of the mugs in his hand until the blood started dripping onto his foot. He didn’t care much. What was another scar? Why not more? Why not end it all there and save everyone the trouble? Martin would miss him, sure, but he would still be _alive_ , and that’s not something Jon could ensure.

He almost didn’t notice the gentle hands guiding him to the sink, the sting of water on his sliced up hand, the kind, soft words murmuring to him that everything would be all right. The bandage on his hand held the blood in, but the wounds were already starting to close. He was guided back to a sofa that he’d honestly forgotten existed and forced to sit. A warm body sat next to his, and a hand stroked through his tangled knot of hair. Still those gentle words poured out. He couldn’t hear what was said, but he knew that he was safe.

He leaned against Martin and closed his eyes, listening to his soft murmurings until he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is fluff, I promise.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly more fluff and a sleepy Jon! There will be much fluff for the next few chapters! Also, I have the ending somewhat planned out, now, and I promise that it _will_ be happy. uwu

Martin wasn’t an idiot. He knew that Jon blamed himself for everything that had ever happened to the Archives staff, regardless of whether or not he had actually had any control over the situation. He also knew that Jon still saw himself as a monster. Sure, being an avatar for the Eye couldn’t be easy, but that didn’t make him a monster. Eldritch powers aside, he was still Jon. _His_ Jon.

He’d been a bit shocked when his other self had asked him if he and Jon were dating. He honestly didn’t know the answer. Sure, they were much closer than they’d ever been, and Martin absolutely wouldn’t have said ‘no’ if Jon asked him. But they’d also done some of the things they had because of necessity. He’d _needed_ Jon to sleep beside him every night, just so he knew that he wasn’t _alone_ again. The same was the case with their frequent embraces and casual hand-holding. He’d needed to know he wasn’t alone again. And he also knew that Jon needed that reassurance as well. He’d needed to know that at least _one person_ still cared about him.

He’d still been considering his answer when he heard something break in the kitchen. Something had happened to Jon, he was sure of it, and he’d be damned if he didn’t run after him. Of course, he’d just broken a mug in his hand, but the distant, glossy look of utter disregard had broken his heart. Jon hadn’t even moved while he’d doctored him back to semi-normal. He’d just stared at the ground.

At least he was asleep now. Martin had read about dissociative episodes before, and given what they’d both gone through, he was honestly surprised that he hadn’t seen Jon in one before. It scared him, sure, but more than that, it _infuriated_ him. How dare the universe, or the Fears, or whatever, hurt Jon! Hadn’t he dealt with enough!? He’d lost everything, even Martin for a while! He deserved to be happy, dammit!

And Martin was absolutely going to make it so. He couldn’t undo the damage done to _his_ Jon, of course, but there was still another Jon that had no idea what was coming. There was another Martin still pining hopelessly after him. Maybe, just maybe, he could fix it for them. Save Sasha and Tim. Save Basira, and Daisy, and Melanie, and Georgie. Save everyone!

And most importantly, kill Elias Bouchard.

That man was going to die no matter what. And Martin was going to be the one who did it. Maybe. If he found the courage, of course.

A chair scooted up near him, despite there still being plenty of room on the couch for someone else. His younger self stared at him and Jon, eyes wide and concerned. “What happened?”

He didn’t have to answer honestly; nothing was forcing him to. Still, he felt like he had to at least explain a little bit. He knew he wasn’t stupid (at least, he _hoped_ he wasn’t just giving himself too much credit), but he also knew that the truth was too much for any one person to learn all at once. Neither he nor Jon had mentioned the apocalypse, the reasons for Jon’s marred skin, not even Jane Prentiss! They’d played a bit dumb, if he had to admit. But the other Martin didn’t need to know. Not yet. Maybe not ever, if he could help it.

“Some sort of panic attack,” Martin whispered, careful to keep his breathing even so he wouldn’t wake Jon. No one wanted _that_. “He’ll be all right.”

“Are you sure?”

He considered for a moment. “Actually, if you don’t mind, could you bring me a statement from the back of the Archives? Something from the mid-1900s would probably be best.”

“What?”

Shit. Why would he ask that? _This_ Martin’s Jon wasn’t dependent on them yet. “Just um...just trust me. He’ll need one when he wakes up.”

“Um...okay…?”

The other Martin got up and tiptoed into Jon’s office, bringing back a statement after a few moments. Martin skimmed the text, satisfied to see that it wasn’t one he thought Jon had read before. Was it real, though? “Can I borrow your laptop?” he asked.

“What?” his counterpart asked. “Why?”

“Need to make sure it’s real.”

The story apparently had something to do with someone trudging through a pitch black room, completely unable to find the other end, nor the door they’d entered through, no matter how far they’d walked. They’d been trapped there for almost a day before someone else came in and flipped on the light switch. It certainly _seemed_ real enough, but that didn’t always mean anything. He wasn’t nearly as discerning as Jon, either, so he _really_ hoped that the laptop trick proved it.

“I mean, I _guess_ you can borrow it? Isn’t it yours, too?”

“Actually, Peter bought me a ne-” He clapped his hands over his mouth, startling Jon.

“Who’s Peter?” Other Martin asked.

“Nobody important,” Jon groaned, sagging somewhat further onto Martin once he realised there wasn’t actually a threat. “Best not to ask about anything potentially from your future.”

“But he sa-”

“I _Know_ what he said. Unfortunately.”

Martin shrugged under Jon’s frustrated gaze. “Sorry. Wasn’t exactly prepared for time travel.”

Jon rubbed his temple and, sadly, sat up. His warmth seemed to leave Martin’s body almost immediately. “Neither was I. Still, we need to try not to spoil our lives to yourself.”

“No offense, Jon,” the other Martin said, grimacing, “but you’re literally a walking spoiler. I mean, have you _looked_ at yourself lately? When was the last time you actually slept properly? O-or ate something? Or...I don’t know, didn’t get torn to bits by some probably really spooky monster? Seriously, what the hell _happened_ to you?”

Martin tried (and failed) not to laugh. “How dare you insinuate that I don’t force him to eat or sleep,” he giggled. Jon tiredly glared at him, but there was a sparkle of fondness in his eyes. “As for what _happened_ , it’s really best to um...not say.”

“Right.” He tried not to notice the severe look of disappointment on his other self’s face. “Do you um...do you still need my laptop?”

Martin glanced at Jon. “I guess not,” he sighed. Jon was already looking hungrily at the piece of paper in Martin’s hand.

“Statement?”

He held the paper aloft and away from Jon, who half-scrambled after it. It was like watching a cat chase a laser pointer, and it was absolutely adorable.

“Give me the statement, Martin!” he whined. Martin laughed and dangled it near him, only to snatch it away a moment before Jon could touch it. The other Martin just watched them in complete shock.

Jon eventually got the statement and stormed off to his office, grumbling. Martin could see his smile, though.

“Seriously, are you guys dating?” Other Martin asked him once the door had closed.

Martin’s good mood slipped a bit, and he hoped that Jon didn’t hear the question. Or See it. “Um...not sure?”

Other Martin blinked. “You’re kidding, right? After- after _that_?” He gesticulated widely toward the general direction of Martin. “A-and the hugging, and he _fell asleep on you_?”

“It’s complicated.”

“ _How_!?”

“Well um...neither of us have actually made a move or anything?” he shrugged. “Things have been rough, and we both needed each other for reasons I can’t explain?”

“Have you kissed him yet?”

The question was almost wistful. Wondering and curious and oh so dreaded. “N-no,” Martin stammered.

Kissing Jon. That would be wonderful, he decided. He didn’t want to pressure the man, though. Didn’t want to scare him away, especially not after everything they’d been through together. If he asked, Jon might run away, and he’d be alone again.

He didn’t want to be alone again.

Not that he believed that Jon would ever abandon him, of course. God, he certainly _hoped_ not. Then again, Jon was... _unpredictable_ , to say the least.

He shook the thought away and didn’t look at Other Martin. “You should go back to your flat,” he mumbled.

Other Martin crinkled his nose. “But what about you guys?”

Martin sighed. “There’s a little room next to the Archives with a bed in it. We’ll probably just stay there for the night until we can figure something else.”

“Only one?”

“Yeah. We’ll make it work. Not like we can afford a hotel or anything. I don’t think either of us have any cash.”

Other Martin’s face turned pink. “Right...sure. O-of course. Um...what if the others see you when they come in tomorrow?”

Another sigh. “Good question.” He hadn’t really thought of that. Would it cause too much of a problem? And what if Elias found them? “Tell you what, why don’t you stay home tomorrow. I’ll um...I’ll take your place! Jon can hide, and I can work on preventing anything um...anything bad from happening!”

“Take my place!? How would that even work!?”

“Well, it helps that we’re literally the same person…”

Other Martin flailed around for a moment, clearly making an attempt at understanding the logistics. “Okay, say that absolutely no one notices. Where would Jon hide?”

The tunnels sounded like a good idea in theory, but there _had_ been at least _one_ worm down there. Jon would never agree to stay down there. “I’ll just have to keep everyone away from the room we’re staying in.”

“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Probably not.”

Other Martin let out a groan and slumped in his chair. “You won’t mess up my stuff, will you?”

“Considering that I know exactly how you like things to be kept? No. No, I don’t think I will. Just...take a week or so, and then we’ll be out of your hair.” He smiled. “Besides, you deserve a holiday with how much Jon makes you deal with.”

“I...I _guess_ I could…?”

“Don’t worry. No one will even notice,” Martin grinned. He decided not to mention the fact that most people never paid any attention to him in the first place. If anyone asked him if he was okay, he’d just come up with a simple excuse. This was going to be fine.

“You’re sure you’ll be all right?”

“If something goes wrong, I’ll let you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see absolutely no way that this could possibly go wrong.


	5. Chapter 5

The Archivist was dreaming. He watched countless people scream to him for help as he watched their sufferings over and over. The delight he felt at watching those many people, learning the ins and outs of their stories, carefully observing every minute detail--it sickened Jon.

He felt like there were hundreds of them now. All these people whose fear he had consumed. Half of them hadn’t even happened yet. Were those people dreaming them anyway, begging him for help while they had no idea what was happening to them?

He wanted to vomit, but the Archivist was in control now. He hated it. He wanted this _thing_ gone from his being. He didn’t want to Know anything else. He just wanted...he just...he wanted peace. He wanted to sleep like a _normal_ person. He wanted to feel Martin’s arm draped over his chest like he knew it was, and he wanted to _sleep_. Instead, all he could do was See and Know.

The Eye was all around. It burned into his soul, and those of the people he watched. Why couldn’t he just be free of it? Most of these experiences hadn’t even happened yet! And younger Jon didn’t have to deal with this! He hadn’t really dealt with any of it until after Unknowing!

Martin needed to wake him up. He couldn’t do anything, though. He was just as trapped as the people he watched.

Something wrapped around his foot. The Buried? Maybe strands of the Web? No, no that didn’t make any sense. This was the realm of the Eye. None of the other Fears could actually _be_ here. He tried to look down, but the Archivist was too intent on watching whatever horror was in front of it. He needed to wake up. Something was touching him, and he hoped to God that it wasn’t something intent on harming him or Martin. _Especially_ not Martin.

With every ounce of willpower, he closed his Eyes and shook himself awake.

The room was dim, but not completely dark. Neither of them could handle the pitch black of a night-stained room anymore. Martin lay next to him on the small cot that honestly couldn’t fit both of them comfortably. One of his arms was laid over his chest, slotting nicely into that spot where he was missing two ribs. It probably should’ve hurt, but he barely noticed. The source of his need to awaken happened to be that Martin’s leg had somehow gotten tangled over Jon’s and his foot was starting to go numb. Relief was like a gentle ocean wave.

Martin still slept somewhat peacefully. He knew the man had terrible nightmares as well, mostly about being trapped in the Lonely, although he occasionally still had worm-related dreams. Jon wished _he_ could have simple nightmares like that. Instead, he was the one causing _other people_ to relive those moments.

Jon snuggled closer to Martin and curled into him, listening to his slow, gentle breathing. He wasn’t going to sleep again, he figured, so he may as well be comfortable. Hopefully it would at least help stave off Martin’s own nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, I know. I'll post Chapter 6 tomorrow, though, so look forward to that! It is all fluff!


	6. Chapter 6

Martin woke up feeling more refreshed than he had in weeks. A blissful warmth spread outward from his chest, and he didn’t need to open his eyes to know that it was Jon. At least the man wasn’t starfished across the bed again, like he’d been known to do.

He opened his eyes, and almost gasped. Jon’s face lay just next to his, his eyes closed and his breathing heavy and slow. He twitched occasionally, but was otherwise still. Martin could almost taste his tea-scented breath, and he desperately had to fight the urge to close the gap between them and press his lips to Jon’s. It would’ve been so easy.

But...he couldn’t. If he was going to kiss Jon, he wanted Jon to be conscious when he did it. He wanted to give Jon a choice in the matter, not take advantage of him being asleep. Jon _trusted_ Martin, and Martin wasn’t about to ruin that.

He sure was adorable, though.

He glanced at the watch still wrapped around his wrist. It’d been a gift from Tim for his birthday back before everything went so horribly wrong. With a jolt, he realised that he was going to _see_ Tim again, for the first time in over a year. His heart ached. It looked like it said somewhere around six in the morning. Jon usually got to work around 7:30, and everyone else would filter in right around 8. He needed to be prepared.

God, what had he even really _been_ like all that time ago? So much had happened since now, and it was going to be hell if he didn’t figure out how to properly act like his old self. Even having encountered him last night wasn’t really enough. He supposed he’d just have to go off of memory. Even the stuff he’d done as his actual _job_ seemed so long ago. He hadn’t really done any of the stuff he was technically hired for since Elias killed Jurgen Leitner.

Sighing, he freed his arm from Jon’s crooked ribcage and started to get up. Jon’s eyes flickered open. Martin stared back at him, unwilling to move from under that beautiful, gentle gaze. They were so close, now. It would only take a tiny bit of agency from either one of them, and that gap would close, and nothing would hold him back anymore. Sadly, neither of them seemed to have the courage to do it.

“Good morning,” Jon rumbled. He almost sounded like he was purring, and his lips curved up into a soft smile.

“Good morning,” Martin replied, returning the expression. Every thought was on Jon, and on closing that gap. He couldn’t do it.

“Ready to start your job over again?”

“You could do it too, you know,” Martin said, rolling the covers off of him and dumping them all on Jon before he stood and stretched.

“I’m pretty sure that I can’t.”

Martin cuffed him on the ear. “Yeah, you’re too nice now. Everyone would think you were sick.”

Jon laughed. It was a beautiful sound. “Sure, _that’s_ the reason.”

Martin shrugged and straightened his jumper as much as he could. “We’re going to have to come up with something to do about my clothes,” he said. “They’re going to notice if I’m wearing the same thing every day.”

“I’d like to point out that we literally have no money.”

“Well then we’d better come up with something quick.” Satisfied with his somewhat less disheveled appearance, Martin headed toward the door. “Tea?”

Jon sat up and rubbed his tired eyes. “Sounds good to me.”

Martin smiled. “I’ll be right back.”

He stepped out into the hallway. It still felt so eerie being in the Archives again. Seeing the ghosts of his past wasn’t going to be helping anything, either. At least he still knew where everything was in the building, except for maybe about a thousand statement files.

For the moment, he was still putting off the stress of remembering how to do his job and how he had acted back in the beginning. He hoped he would just... _be able_ to do it, rather than needing to prepare much for it. It was just the sort of thing that Jon would do. His smile turned sour. How many times had he yelled at Jon for doing something stupid and half-baked like this? There was no way this was going to work.

The kettle whistled. He hadn’t even realised he had put it on. At least _that_ was still muscle memory. He fixed two steaming cups and fixed Jon’s to be the sweetened nightmare he so enjoyed. What a shock it had been to figure out _that_ one.

He returned to the room. Jon had moved to sitting on the floor for some reason, and he was messing with something on his phone. He looked up at Martin and smiled. Martin’s heart did a flip. He sat down next to Jon and handed him the tea. Jon took a long drag from it and sighed, setting it next to him and leaning on Martin’s shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Martin asked, gesturing to the phone.

“My phone number never changed,” Jon explained sleepily, “so there are currently two people with the exact same number. I’m trying to see if there’s a way to disable the calling and texting while keeping the internet active.”

Martin took a sip of his tea. “Any luck?”

“No.”

They sat together in silence after that, sipping their tea while Jon messed with his phone. Martin supposed that the one good thing about Peter making him Lonely was that he now had a different phone number. Although, now that he thought about it, he hoped no one else had had the number before him. Then he’d have the same problem, he supposed.

After a while (and after the tea was gone), Jon sighed and set down his phone. “It’s almost 7,” he said. “I’ll be on my way here, now.”

“It’ll still be a little bit.”

“True, but you’ll have to make it look like you’ve actually been doing something. And do you have an excuse for being here so early?”

He hadn’t really thought about it. “I can just say that I couldn’t sleep any more and decided to come in a bit earlier than usual.”

“And what are you going to be pretending to do?”

“Read statements?”

“Absolutely not. You’re not going to read _any_ statements.”

Martin smirked. “It’s kind of my job, Jon.”

Jon pouted. “Maybe, but I know what those things do to you.”

“I’ll try to find ones I know are fake. There’s plenty of those. If I find a real one, I’ll hand it off to Tim or Sasha.”

Jon’s hand rested over Martin’s. Despite Jon’s seemingly relaxed and calm demeanor, he could feel his racing heartbeat through the heat of his skin. “Speaking of Sasha, you’ll need to pretend like you know what she’s talking about half the time.”

“Yeah...guess we don’t really have any inside jokes that I would recognise anymore…”

“Just…”

“Just what, Jon?”

Jon’s heavy gaze rested on him. He looked so vulnerable and afraid, and Martin just wanted to take him in his arms and drag him away from this awful place as fast as he possibly could. “Promise me you’ll be careful?”

“Of course I will.” Besides, he figured, the only one they really needed to worry about finding out about this whole thing was Elias, and Martin had always been the one that was just boring enough to not be of interest. “No one will ever have to know, and then we can move on in peace after saving the world.”

“If you say so.” Jon stared at the floor. “I just...I wish I could help somehow.”

Martin wrapped his arm around the other man and pulled him close. “You can help by not doing anything stupid. Besides, I’m not leaving the building. Promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff! All the fluff! Who needs a plot when you can have fluff!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the spring semester starting up, I haven't actually had much time to work on this story lately. Fortunately, I built up a pretty nice buffer before I started my classes, so I've still got a few more chapters left before I have to start writing again. By then, hopefully I'll be slightly more caught up on homework.  
> That being said, I'm going to try to update this every Saturday, even if some of the chapters are shorter. Can't promise it, but I'll try. I've got a few other fic ideas, but I _really_ want to finish this one first.
> 
> Enjoy the new chapter!

Jon rested his cheek on Martin’s shoulder and sighed. Martin was right, of course. He shouldn’t worry about this as much as he was. And yet...the familiar, nagging sense of impending doom scratched at his chest. Maybe it was just more prominent now that he really knew how he felt about him. Maybe he just desperately needed to tell him, just in case something happened, and he never got another chance.

But he stayed silent. He just drank in the pleasure of being held by the one person he loved. In the back of his mind, he Knew that his younger self was on the tube headed to the Archives. He never really understood what it was back then that made him get up early to go and leave so late. He Knew _now_ , of course--the damned Archivist had needed snacks, and the Archives had just what he’d needed. Even before he was an avatar, he supposed that he’d been training for it.

It was sickening.

“Jon?” Martin asked, startling him out of his thoughts. “Are you all right?”

He _could_ just lie and say he was, but he didn’t have the energy for it. He was mentally exhausted, and the Archivist was hungering for knowledge. “Not particularly,” he murmured. Martin would understand. Martin _always_ understood.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

This had been their new thing: talking through their problems with each other. Open communication was a good thing, Martin had told him. Maybe it was, but it was so hard after years of pushing it down and trying to forget about all of his many problems. “I...not really.”

Martin squeezed him a little tighter and laid his head on top of Jon’s. “We’ll fix this, Jon,” he whispered. “We’ll protect them, and we’ll make sure that none of it happens again.”

How sad was it that he couldn’t even find the energy to care about that?

“I’m scared, Martin.”

Martin sighed. “I’m scared, too, Jon.”

They sat there for another few moments before Martin started to get up. Jon knew that he had to; his younger self had just made it to the last station and was heading up the stairs out onto the street. Still, the absence of Martin’s warmth was a bit...disappointing. And there was still that looming dread weighing him down.

“Martin…,” he said. He hadn’t even been meaning to speak. Maybe he’d just wanted to feel the way his name flowed off his lips. There was so much meaning in saying his name aloud. All the things he wanted to say, but couldn’t find the words for.

“What is it?”

His heart suddenly began to race. “N-nothing. Nevermind.” Best to just forget he’d said anything.

“I don’t believe you.”

There was no way out of it, then. “I...erm, well I…” How the hell did English work? “C-can I...can I ask you something…?”

Martin knelt back down. “‘Course you can.”

His mouth opened, but there was no sound. He couldn’t...how was he supposed to…? Then it all blurted out like a crash of thunder. “Do you love me, Martin?”

Martin blinked. Oh God, he’d sounded desperate, hadn’t he? And dammit he’d _asked_! He wasn’t supposed to do that anymore! He couldn’t...he--

“Of course I do, Jon,” Martin replied, his voice soft. A smile pulled at his lips and his cheeks flushed pink. It was one of the most beautiful things Jon had ever seen.

He was speechless. More so than ever before. Of course he’d _known_ that--Martin had even said it back in the Lonely! But hearing him say it, and knowing that Martin was _literally incapable_ of lying to him when he asked him things...it was so much more... _real_.

“Do you love me?” Martin asked back.

How the hell was he supposed to answer that!? He _did_ , but there was so much that he couldn’t even put into words, and even if he tried, it would only fall completely flat, and it wouldn’t ever get across what he really meant, and he just _loved_ him _so much_ …

Still, he tried to put as much of his feelings into his words. “Y-yes,” he whispered, completely breathless. “Yes, I very much do.”

Martin’s smile was the widest he’d ever seen it. It was so, so beautiful. He committed it to memory--how the freckles on his cheeks stretched just a little bit, and how the curls of his soft, burnt-orange hair dipped below his eyes, which were squeezed closed with the purest delight.

It must have been the happiest he had ever seen him, and it was beautiful.

His heart pounded, and his body felt both light and heavy at the same time. His love, his _anchor_ loved him, and he had never been happier. But...now what were they supposed to do? They’d finally confessed their reciprocated feelings and...what happened next? Georgie had forced him through enough romcoms back in university to give him an _idea_ , but...would Martin even _want_ that? He...he’d never really understood relationships to begin with. Loving someone was one thing. What was supposed to follow had never actually occurred to him.

“Jon?” Martin asked, his voice shaking with joy. “I...I really want to ask you something, but I need you to compel me to do it because my mouth is refusing to function right now.”

Jon laughed. “That isn’t exactly _romantic_ , Martin!”

“So!? Just! Just do it!” His face was completely red, and somehow that made the freckles dusting his plump cheeks even more noticeable.

He didn’t _really_ want to compel Martin to do anything, but Martin looked like he was about to swoon, so he figured he may as well figure it out. His words weren’t coming nearly as smoothly as they usually did, but he managed. “O-okay. Um...what do you want to- to ask me?”

“ _Can I kiss you_!?”

Martin clapped his hands over his mouth, the blush now spreading up into his ears and down his neck. No wonder he’d needed compelled.

It...it _did_ seem the next logical step, for sure. This was how romance worked, right? The only problem was that Martin was covering his face and looked like he wanted to blush off the face of the Earth. Jon couldn’t deny that his face had probably turned a lovely shade of bright red, as well. How was it that Martin could make him feel this way? Make his heart pound and leap and dance right out of his ribcage and into his hands to be given away?

Martin finally lowered his hands, and he looked like he was about to say something, but Jon wasn’t going to give him a chance. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to his love’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ^-^


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these boys.
> 
> In other news, I've started writing _another_ Jonmartin fic that answers the question of "what if Jane Prentiss had attacked at a different time?" It's a question that probably no one else was really asking, but dammit we here a Jon-Martin Shippers Incorporated have to come up with new things like this, so it's happening. It's going to be less chopped up than this one, I think, and will also be featuring a sassy Elias POV. I am very excited for that one as well.
> 
> I promise I'm not abandoning this one, though. I love it too much for that.
> 
> TW: bit of secondhand embarrassment, suggested abusive relationship (that is not true but Tim doesn't know that)

Kissing Jon was everything that Martin had ever anticipated, and even more. His lips were soft and delicate, slightly wet but honestly he couldn’t have cared less. The stubble on his Jon’s tickled, and their noses were awkwardly smushed around each other. It was the most magical thing he had ever experienced.

Jon pulled back far too soon, and smiled at Martin, who had completely forgotten what he was planning on saying. Probably excuse himself from his own question, run off and try to forget that it had happened.

 _Definitely_ not doing that now.

“Yes, Martin,” Jon said. His dark face was flushed with an even deeper (and very attractive) red. “Yes, you may.”

There wasn’t a hint of doubt or fear in his voice, and Martin didn’t need to be told again. He cupped Jon’s pitted, scarred, _gorgeous_ face and pulled it to his own, tearing away Jon’s glasses before they got in the way.

They sat there for an eternity, locked together in the closest embrace they could manage with the very awkward way they were sitting. Jon’s hand ran through Martin’s hair, sending tiny shivers of joy down his spine. Martin did the same, and he could feel Jon’s normally _very_ tense muscles shake and relax beneath his other palm.

It was pure bliss. He must be in Heaven.

The creak of the door behind him shattered the moment. He tore his lips away and whipped around while Jon sunk down behind him.

Light spilled through the door, and a pale, thin face stared at them from within it. “I regret everything,” said Tim.

The door closed, and the sound of very quickly retreating footsteps followed.

“Shit,” Jon mumbled, pressing his face into Martin’s shirt.

Martin wiped his forehead, and then he scrambled to his feet. That had gotten...quite a bit more intense than intended, but quite frankly he felt like he could run a thousand miles now.

But first, he needed to confront Tim.

“Sorry,” he whispered, creeping out the door.

Jon huddled next to the bed, a defeated, but very wistful expression on his face, like he’d just been rudely awakened from a very good dream. Martin determined that was how _he_ felt, too.

Tim was hunched over his desk, his face still much paler than the usual tan look he sported. He didn’t look up as Martin sat at his own desk next to him.

Martin took a moment to appreciate how nice it was to see one of his friends _alive_ again. Sure, this was a different Tim, but his Tim was long gone. He missed him. It was nice to see him again. Then he leaned over and whispered in his ear. “H-hey there, Tim...uh...how much did you see?”

“More than I wanted to,” Tim replied. His grip on his pen tightened, making his knuckles turn white.

“Could I convince you that you didn’t see anything?”

He finally looked at Martin, and Martin saw that he wasn’t quite as shell-shocked as he’d been acting. “I don’t think I could get the image out of my head if I tried,” he snickered. “I honestly didn’t think you had it in you!”

Martin’s face burned, and it wasn’t pleasant this time. “Look, just...just don’t _tell_ anyone, okay?” he pleaded.

Tim completely ignored him. “Then again, I didn’t think the boss had it in him, either. I really thought he was ace or something. I mean, the guy can resist _my_ natural charm.” He cackled. “Then you waltz in here all ‘tea and friendship’ and he completely loses all of that pompous assholery that we’ve all come to know and love. Have you written any poems about him yet?”

“Tim!” He was _not_ going to admit that, actually, _several_ of his old poems revolved around his feelings for Jon. He was _also_ not going to let him and Jon get caught because they’d let their guards down for what was probably only a minute or so.

“At least tell me you’re gonna wash those sheets before anyone else needs them.”

“ _Tim_!”

Tim cracked a smile, and Martin would’ve taken a moment to appreciate it and how rarely he’d gotten to see it those last couple years if he weren’t so embarrassed and panicky. “I won’t tell Sasha a thing,” he said. “I’ve got a lot of money on the line!”

Martin’s face fell further. “You had a _bet_ going!?”

“‘Course we do,” Tim shrugged. “She swore up and down that it’d take less than six months for you to try and ask Jon out. I bet against her. Clearly, I’ve lost, but I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“How much, Tim?”

Tim face flared a light pink. “Erm...twenty pounds?”

“What the hell, Tim!?”

“I honestly didn’t think you had it in you!”

Now he was embarrassed _and_ pissed. A _bet_! On how long it would take for him to make a move for Jon! The absolute _nerve_! He moved back to his seat. “Cheeky bastard,” he muttered.

Tim scribbled a few things in a notebook, then leaned over to Martin. “So...who was on top?”

Martin stood abruptly. “Timothy Stoker, I swear to God! Shut your stupid mouth before I make you!”

He...he hadn’t meant to shout. This was very much not what he was supposed to act like. This was the _opposite_ of the old Martin. Now everyone was going to know. It was all his fault. Jon was going to leave him for this, and he would be alone again. Alone, alone, alone...

“O-okay, Martin,” Tim said, his voice soft and soothing. His eyes were wide, though. “I’ll stop. I was just teasing.”

Martin sat back down and glared at the paperwork in front of him. He didn’t see it. Jon would never leave him. Not now. He _knew_ that now. He had nothing to fear from that end. He would never be alone again. And Tim didn’t know anything that he’d been through. That he was...that he was _gone_. That _Sasha_ was gone. He was completely clueless about the true nature of the Institute, about the hell that Elias put them through, about _everything_.

He swore to keep it that way as best he could.

“I didn’t mean to shout at you, Tim,” Martin sighed. “It’s just...embarrassing, is all.”

Tim scoffed. “Never expected to hear you raise your voice like that.” He leaned back in his seat and regarded Martin. “Are you all right?”

“I’m _fine_.” He bit his tongue saying that.

Tim raised his hands in surrender. “Whatever you say.” He leaned in close. “If you need to talk, though, I’m here. If he hurts you just because you like him, I’ll-”

“That’s not necessary, Tim.”

He pulled away. “I’m just saying.”

Martin sighed. “It’s nothing like that, I promise.”

“Then how come you’re out here acting all weird, and he hasn’t even left the room yet?”

“Something wrong, boys?” a cheery woman’s voice called. Martin almost jumped out of his seat.

She was a fairly standard height, with long dark hair, deep brown skin, and a brilliant smile that could chase away even the Loneliest of fogs. Her big round glasses perched on top of her slightly hooked nose like a balance scale that might fall off if she moved too fast.

Sasha.

If Martin had been straight, he probably would have fallen for her immediately. Somehow he’d wound up pining after Jon for several years instead. At least things were sorted with that now.

“Don’t think so,” Tim told her, stretching. “Just chatting.”

She smirked. “All right then. Keep your secrets you dirty liar.” She set down a folder brimming with papers and pushed some hair out of her face. “Either of you seen Jon yet?”

The slam of the door to the Archives answered that question for her. Martin felt a chill on his back. This was it. He had to make it through at least today. As long as he could manage that, everything would be _just fine_.

That is, until a very loud, very angry “ _Martin_!” came from that very same room.

Martin winced. How, exactly, had he fallen for Jon again? Seriously, he’d been a complete prick back at the beginning. He scooted away from his desk and began the walk of shame to the door. Tim’s eyes were heavy on his back.

He poked his head into the door. “Y-yes, Jon?”

In classic Jon fashion, he was too busy stomping around the Archives in a huff. “Where the hell are they!?” he was shouting.

He looked just like he remembered. Well-kept hair cropped close to his head, with just a _slight_ hint of grey in the roots. His skin was unmarred by all of the many, many scars that his own Jon had. His face was clean of any facial hair. He looked completely alien.

Martin closed the door behind him. “What did you need?” he asked, a bit louder this time.

“My statements! What did you do with them!?”

Martin scanned the room. It looked about the same as they’d left it, but he hadn’t been in there when Jon was reading the statement he’d given him, and the other Martin might have moved some stuff around. “I...didn’t do...anything with them?” he tried.

Jon huffed and set a folder on the floor. “Well they didn’t just _walk away_. You were the last person to leave last night, so where are they?”

It was weird not to feel magically compelled to answer the question. “I didn’t touch anything.”

Jon’s face turned bright red. Martin _really_ hoped it was because he was embarrassed, and not because he was angry. Angry Jon was never good. “I leave my Archives early for _one night_ , and they’re a mess again!” he muttered, shifting papers around and generally being his normal OCD self. “At least help me find them.”

Martin shrugged and looked around. “What um...what ones are you looking for?”

“There were a few on top of my desk that I left last night. One was about a _ghost_ _spider_ , of all things, and the other had something to do with a person being trapped in a dark room that they couldn’t escape. Absolute nonsense, if you ask me, but they need to be recorded.”

Swallowing hard, Martin tried not to make it obvious that the spider statement unnerved him. The weeks following his research on that very statement had been... _unpleasant_ to say the least. Something off in the corner caught his eye. A statement on the floor, halfway under one of the filing cabinets. Jon would never allow such a thing. He also didn’t know how it would have gotten there, although the spiderwebs gave him a sneaking suspicion.

He lumbered over, reached down, and picked it up, ignoring the retreating pair of spiders and brushing his hand through their sticky webs. They’d done their job, he supposed. “Statement of Adelard Dekker,” he read aloud, his blood starting to freeze over, “regarding...the Extinction…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed, and have a lovely week!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I haven't made _any_ progress on this story in a hot minute. I've been too busy writing another fic lol.  
> Not giving up, though. Time travel is too damn good for that.

Jon tapped his foot. He readjusted the ponytail in his hair. He scratched at his messy stubble.

He had kissed Martin, and Martin had kissed him back.

And now he was sitting alone in a darkened room with nothing to do for the next several hours.

He groaned and leaned back against the wall. Martin wouldn't leave him the _entire_ day, but still. He couldn't even properly Watch him in case Jonah sensed his presence.

So he sat there and did nothing.

A minute dragged by. Then another. Each lasted an hour.

Maybe he could try sleeping? No, there was no one to rescue him (or anyone else) from the nightmares. If he tossed around as he tended to, the others would hear him and it would all be over. He would just have to wait.

Another minute passed.

Jon jumped up and began to pace around the room. He should at least focus on a plan. Jonah Magnus was their biggest threat, but Jane Prentiss was probably the most imminent one. She already had something of a presence in the tunnels, after all, which meant that she would be preparing to attack. As for Magnus, he still didn't have a solid plan as for how to dispose of him effectively. If he or Martin (not that he would dare let _Martin_ do it) killed Jonah, the rest of the people working for the Institute would suffer. Sure, he was almost certain that Jonah had overstated his importance, but he still needed to get rid of him without anyone else getting hurt.

He knew that Jonah's power revolved around Seeing. If he could make a way to blind Jonah, or perhaps temporarily blind the Institute staff, he could eliminate the threat and no one else would get hurt. Maybe he could get the Dark involved. Maxwell Rayner wasn't exactly someone he wanted to deal with, but it was possible that it could work. Not like he had any other options.

Then there was the matter of actually _killing_ Jonah. Much as he hated to have any more blood on his hands, he didn't have much of a choice. He wouldn't dare let the world end again. But the question remained of the _where_ and the _how_. He supposed that he could lure him down into the Panopticon. If he got Rayner involved, blinding both of Magnus's bodies might be effective enough to finish it. But Magnus's original body wasn't exactly alive, so how could he kill him? Killing Elias would just give Magnus a chance to find a new body. No, he had to kill both at the same time.

Just...how?

His legs ached. How long had he been pacing? His phone read 8:43. It'd almost been an hour. Hopefully Martin would get back soon. He could really use that gentle touch, a comforting smile, maybe a nice warm cup of tea, just the way he liked it.

Jon smiled giddily. Thinking about Martin was _far_ better than thinking about killing Jonah Magnus. Martin, and the way he always blushed and looked away when he thought he was rambling. Martin, who loved to show him pictures of animals and make tea and sit with him on the sofa while they watched the telly. Martin, who loved _Jonathan Sims_ , of all people.

Good Lord, what he wouldn't do to make that man happy.

Some internal alarm went off in the back of his mind, something he’d become _far_ too accustomed to. Without thinking, he Looked through the sightless door of Beholding and was met with another presence Looking back. His heart began to pound, his palms became moist.

 _I See you_.

It wasn’t a voice. Not really. But it was enough. Jon slammed the mental door shut and looked around wildly for any means of escape. He found himself caught between busting through the door and grabbing Martin before anyone could react, and desperately needing to protect everyone else in the Archives. In the entire _Institute_ , if he could.

His hand fell to the knife he’d started carrying around once he and Martin had made it to Scotland. He hadn’t figured that he would need it, but he had wanted that extra reassurance. He knew that Martin had one now, as well. He wasn’t helpless. Neither of them were.

The tunnels. He could get back into the tunnels and call Martin. He _should_ still be able to make calls. At least, he _hoped_ he could.

Yes. This was a plan. Better than some of the plans he’d come up with before. He hoped. He Knew that the far wall was just a section of plasterboard. He could break it down, just like Tim had back when...God, was that really three years ago?

He shook his head. Reminiscing on the past wasn’t going to save Martin _or_ the world. He needed to get out, get Martin, and kill Magnus. He supposed that if it killed everyone else, then he would just have to deal with that. Maybe jail wouldn’t be so bad. Jonah had seemed to enjoy it.

God, what had his life even come to at this point?

He cut through a small section of the wall and kicked it away, opening up a way into the tunnels. Before he left, he made sure to stuff the blankets from the bed underneath the doorway, just in case any worms found their way inside and tried to get through.

Then, he headed off into the dark with just his phone’s torch to light the way and a growing sense of dread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's short, but I've got more coming next week. :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the late upload, guys! It's been an incredibly busy weekend for me and I didn't really have the energy to double-check my work. But it's late on Monday night, the Vast is angry with me, and I should probably just post the damn thing lol. No editing, we die like men.
> 
> TW: worms

“No, Jon! You’re not getting it!”

Martin held the statement high above his head and tried not to laugh and Jon’s feeble attempts to snatch it away. His face was red and scrunched up with irritation, and he just wasn’t quite tall enough to reach it, even when he jumped. It was pitifully adorable.

“Martin, give me the damn statement right now! I-I’ll _fire_ you if you don’t stop!”

He laughed. He couldn’t help it. This Jon was...so much younger, and innocent, and naive. God, he missed those days.

Jon stopped jumping and glared at him. Martin couldn’t help but imagine steam coming out of his ears. “Is that _funny_ , Blackwood?” he asked, his voice deadly serious.

He’d never heard him say his name like that. He didn’t like it, either.

Martin frowned and lowered his arm. Jon snatched the statement away. “That’s what I thought. This had better not happen again, or you _won’t_ like what happens next.”

He nodded sullenly.

“Get out of my office.”

Martin hung his head and began to sulk away. He hadn’t met to _actually_ upset Jon. In fact, he’d sort of forgotten that Jon wasn’t capable of taking a joke all that time ago. Plus, he didn’t have the luxury of being in his good graces yet. Maybe he shouldn’t have done this whole stupid ‘posing as his past self’ thing after all. He was only making things worse.

God, he was an idiot.

A buzzing behind him gave him pause. Jon’s phone? Who would be calling him? It wasn’t like he really had any friends, except maybe Georgie. Still, that seemed odd.

Jon stared at the screen, eyes wide with surprise. Then he looked up at Martin, still very confused-looking. Martin tried not to notice the hint of fear in the back of his gaze.

“Martin…,” Jon said, “why are you...why are you calling me while I’m right here? A-and how are you doing it without your phone?”

Martin felt all the blood drain from his face, like a vampire had suddenly accosted him. “Answer it,” he said. He may have sounded a bit more serious than he’d intended, but...he would never call Jon unless he had no one else to turn to back during this time. Or unless...unless…

Jon tapped the button to answer. “H-hello?” he asked.

“Jon!” Martin’s voice came over the little speaker. Did Jon seriously have his phone on auto-speaker mode? “Jon, thank Christ! Oh God, Jon, I-”

“Is that... _actually_ you...Martin?”

“O-of course it-! Wait. _Shit_!”

“It’s fine,” Martin said, interrupting before Jon could say anything. His face had gone pale. “What’s wrong?”

Other Martin made a sound that was something between a laugh and a sob. “I-I- there’s- it’s-”

“Calm down, Martin,” Martin advised. “Take a breath.”

“It’s _Jane Prentiss_!”

Martin’s blood turned to ice.

“Sh-she’s outside my flat! There- there are these little...little _worm_ things that keep- Oh God.” A squishing sound followed that Martin remembered all too well. “I-I think she’s trying to get in! I-I need help!”

Jon swallowed. “Jane Prentiss is- is outside your flat?”

“Yes!”

That...that wasn’t supposed to happen. This shouldn’t be happening yet! “H-has she said anything?” Martin asked.

“N-no! Should she!?”

That was a good question. “No, I guess not,” he decided. “Just-”

“Could one of you explain to me what the _hell_ is going on here!?”

Right. Jon. Jon, who was still very clueless about what was going on.

“Well, um, basically,” Martin said, “I’m a _future_ Martin. Wound up back in time. Am currently trying to save the world. That’s...that’s the short version, anyway.”

Jon blinked. “The...future…?”

“Yeah. Me and the Martin from _your_ timeline decided to uh...well, I mean I-”

“He decided to take over for a few days so he could try and figure things out,” Other Martin supplied.

“Y-yeah. That.”

Jon took a deep breath. Then another. Other Martin shrieked and stomped on another worm. “Jon, I-I know it’s weird and all, but um, I-I _really_ need help, here!” he cried.

Martin gingerly pulled the phone from Jon’s limp hand. The least he could do was give the man a minute to consider what the hell was happening. “Okay, Martin,” he said. “Here’s what I want you to do. Go grab as many towels as you can and stuff them in the door and window cracks. Use blankets, too. Get Nan’s old corkscrew from the drawer in the kitchen and that CO2 fire extinguisher off the wall by the fridge, then head into the bathroom and sit against that wall you think is stupid and doesn’t need to be there. The worms won’t be able to get in without you seeing them first, the ventilation is good, and there’s a toilet. If too many get in at one time, spray them with the fire extinguisher. If one gets to you, dig it out with the corkscrew. Oh! And you shouldn’t _need_ to, but it might not be a bad idea to grab a snack or two.”

Other Martin didn’t say anything for a moment. He could be heard shuffling around his flat, every movement very slow and cautious. Each shaky breath sounded painful “D-did you know this would happen?”

Martin sighed. “It shouldn’t be happening _now_ ,” he admitted. “It happened to me a few weeks from now, but Jon hasn’t even read the statement yet that he sent me to investigate when I first met Prentiss.”

“B-but you knew it would happen?”

“We- ...I was going to prevent it if I could. That- I mean, that was the _plan_ , at least.”

Other Martin sniffled. Martin knew he was trying to hold back tears. “How long were you trapped in here?”

“T-two weeks. Everyone thought I was just out sick because Prentiss had my phone and claimed that _for_ me.”

“Y-you won’t let that happen to _me_ , right…?”

“Absolutely not. We’re on our way, okay?”

“O-okay…”

The call dropped. Martin took a few deep breaths and tried to calm his now-racing mind. Jon was going to have so many questions, but he needed to get to _his_ Jon, and then go save the other Martin! And then there was Tim and Sasha to worry about! How many fire extinguishers did he have at his disposal? Could he even still protect everyone!?

Worst of all, why did Prentiss attack _now_? There wasn’t any sense to it! Surely _she_ didn’t know that he and Jon were there from the future! But then…

A small, delicate knock came through the door. Martin didn’t move. He scarcely dared to breathe. Of _course_. Who was the only one who would Know he and Jon were there, no matter how much they tried to hide, and who would Know how to contact another avatar?

“Jonathan?” a voice called. That sick, silky smooth voice that grated all of his nerves at once. “I believe Martin is in there. Could you send him out so I could have a word with him?”

Martin shook his head vehemently. Jon could, under zero circumstances, open that door. Jon looked at him with wide eyes. He hadn’t moved since Martin had taken his phone.

“I know you two are in there, just open the door.”

With one swift, very much _not_ thought-out movement, Martin pulled the door open and punched Elias Bouchard right in his smug face.

Jon seemed to snap out of his stupor. “Martin!” he cried. “A-are you _mad_!?”

Elias sprawled out on the floor, and Martin had to actively fight the urge to stab him to death right then and there. How _dare_ he try to play innocent, and how _dare_ he put his younger self more at risk! He couldn’t kill Elias. Not yet, anyway. He would have to kill Jonah at the same time so he couldn’t just move on to another host. He had to wait.

Punching him had felt very, very good, though. He figured he was beginning to understand Melanie’s violent tendencies. This would make killing Jonah later much easier, he decided. He certainly wouldn’t let _Jon_ do it. Jon needed to heal, and killing Jonah Magnus was definitely not going to be helpful for him.

Martin, on the other hand…

Elias leapt back to his feel and stalked toward the door, which Martin rather quickly slammed and locked.

"M-Martin, what the _hell_ are you doing!?" Jon shouted.

Elias pounded on the door. Martin turned to Jon and attempted to smile through the terror that flooded through him. "Elias is, um...well, he's kind of _evil_ ," he explained, wincing against the shuddering door. "He killed Gertrude and also ended the world. Very bad."

"Let me in, Martin!" Elias shouted.

He could feel Jonah's presence trying to rake through his mind, bringing up every awful memory he’d ever had the displeasure of acquiring. The probing _hurt_. It was like thousands of tiny claws stabbing into his skull and digging around. Their tendrils coiled around his head and _squeezed_.

Jonah was going to find out about his Jon, about their relationship (whatever _that_ was), about the success of his schemes. He would tear everything out, and then he would kill him.

Martin panicked. Clutching his head, he struggled over to the trapdoor and tore it open, accidentally ripping it off its hinges in his adrenaline-fueled _need_ to escape those _Eyes_. He nearly fell down the stairs, panting as he went. The pain was so intense that he could feel his blood racing through his veins, and pulsing pain through him with every beat of his heart.

Could Jonah still get to him down in the tunnels? He didn't know, all he could do was pray. Hysteria had a way of not allowing him to think.

The tap of footsteps followed him down. This was it. He was going to die. He would never get his happy life with Jon. He would never get to save the world with his lover at his side. He would never get to say 'I love you' to him again.

Shaking hands gripped his arms and pulled him from the floor he didn't even realise he'd fallen to. "G-get up, Martin," Jon's voice ordered.

It wasn't his Jon, but the voice was soothing enough to cut through the pain. And it was scared. He couldn't let Jon be scared.

He wobbled on his shaking legs, trying to remember how to balance. Young Jon stood beside him, his hands still a light touch on his arm. Terror leaked from his eyes. "What is _happening_?" he hissed.

Martin tried to find words, but there was too much pain, and too many memories being dragged out of him as if he were a pond, the memories were the fish, and Jonah was the fisherman. Tears were sliding down his cheeks, and he was pretty sure his nose was bleeding. God, it _hurt_.

A creak sounded above them, followed by a crash. Elias had broken in. They...they needed to _go_! Needed to _escape_ , and hide, and plan, and then keep running, but he couldn't _move_!

"Oh what a shame," a voice tutted somewhere on his left. "I don't believe your Archivist would be too pleased if you _died_ down here."

He whirled toward the sound. "H-Helen?" he choked.

"Do you need a _door_ , Martin dearie?"

Jon shuddered beside him. "Wh-who's there?"

A small, faded yellow door creaked open. A familiarly disorienting face peeked out. Swirling golden eyes peered at them, and a disturbingly long hand stretched out and beckoned to the two of them. “Let’s not waste too much time, boys,” Helen cooed. “Jonah might not be too keen on leaving you alive anymore.”

Without even considering the consequences (not that he ever really did), Martin grabbed Jon’s hand, sprinted to Helen’s open door, and threw himself into the Spiral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot... _sickens_...


	11. Chapter 11

Something was following him. He Knew that, but something about the tunnels always distorted his Sight. Maybe Jonah was the one out there, maybe it was Jane Prentiss, hell, it could’ve been Jurgen Leitner for all he knew. What he _did_ know was that he was being followed, and he didn’t like it.

He shivered, remembering all the other times he’d run down here without a plan. Shortly after Prentiss’s attack, escaping the Not-Sasha, throwing himself into the Spiral so Jared Hopworth could remove his _rib_. For God’s sake, he was a mess. And then there was the Paniopticon to consider. Martin had been in danger, and that was all he’d known. He’d had to save the idiot before he got himself killed. Then he’d jumped into the Lonely without considering how _stupid_ that was. Well, he certainly didn’t intend to do that _this_ time, but God only knew what he _was_ planning.

Maybe he could run across Helen, and she would be feeling helpful again. He still wasn’t really sure why she’d sent him and Martin to the past in the first place. Maybe she didn’t like the apocalypse any more than they did, but that didn’t seem right. No, there was probably something in it for her more than for them. Or maybe she really _was_ just being helpful.

He still couldn’t help but feel bad about abandoning all the other people he knew to that horrible world. So many people, trapped in endless fear and pain with no means of escape and no way out...

No, he couldn’t think about that. He had a job to do, and that was to prevent all that chaos in the first place. Helen may be up to something, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t use her plots to his own advantage.

Something skittered just behind him, and he paused, waving his torch around. Memories of being stalked by Not-Sasha crept into his mind, and he could almost hear its sing-song voice calling his name. He’d been...so scared.

Nevermind that, though. Whatever he’d heard, he couldn’t see. He couldn’t even _See_ it. Damn Smirke and his ridiculous architecture. He still wasn’t even sure how that was supposed to work. He didn’t really care, though. He just cared about what was following him at that moment.

Still, he needed to keep moving. He’d already crushed a few worms that had been creeping around, but that didn’t mean that there weren’t any more. Not being able to See them certainly didn’t help, either. He just needed to keep going. Maybe he should try to find Martin. He certainly didn’t have any other ideas. Besides, if Jonah really _had_ Seen him, it wouldn’t be long before he realised that there were two Martins as well.

God, he hoped Martin was okay.

The scuff of a foot on stone whirled him around again. This time, he caught a brief glimpse of the figure that was following him. Average human height, likely male. There was no significant shine of deadly eyes, so most likely not an avatar. He certainly hoped not. Imagine running into a Hunter down there.

“Is that you, Jurgen?” he called. He really, _really_ hoped it was just Jurgen Leitner. It probably wasn’t Elias, but he really didn’t know who else it would be. He took a step closer, and saw that there were actually _two_ figures. A cold shudder passed through him as he remembered Julia and Trevor. He _really_ didn’t want to run into them. “Who’s there?”

“I dunno, boss,” a familiar voice sneered. “Why don’t you tell us?”

“T-Tim! Sasha!” Relief washed over him. “Christ, I thought I was being stalked by...well I’m not entirely sure _what_ , but I’m glad it’s just _you_!”

“Yeah,” an accusatory female voice replied. “And who, _exactly_ are you?”

That must’ve been Sasha, although the voice was completely foreign. He supposed it would make sense that she would be cautious. Working at the Archives had instilled that into all of them. “I-it’s me!” he replied. “Jon!”

“Oh really?” Suspicion leaked from Tim’s voice, and Jon suddenly remembered that the Tim who knew him was long dead, and this Tim probably didn’t recognise him.

“Y-yes!”

Sasha stepped into his torchlight and flipped on her own. Jon screwed his eyes shut in the blinding light and tried not to look afraid.

“Sure don’t look like Jon to me,” Tim said, crossing his arms. “Now who the hell are you?”

Jon lowered his hands that he hadn’t even realised he had raised. Tim looked angry--about as much as he would’ve expected. It was...eerily reminiscent of the expression he’d had just before he’d stopped the Unknowing. Sasha was...completely different. She was taller than Jon, which hadn’t been the case with Not-Sasha. Also, she looked prepared to kick his ass at a moment’s notice.

“I promise,” he said slowly, “I can explain.”

“Better do it quick, then,” Sasha smirked. She didn’t look nearly as angry as Tim, mostly just confused and hungrily curious. Perhaps she was more attuned to the Eye than he’d ever known. Although, to be fair, he didn’t exactly _remember_ her.

He was very aware of how different he looked, and it made him feel very self-conscious in a way he hadn’t for a very long time. The scars across his skin all ached with painful memories, but these two had never seen them. They’d never seen _him_ , and in one dreadful thought, he remembered that the people _he_ knew were dead. _Long_ dead. And he himself wasn’t even _human_ anymore. It was...discomforting.

“ _Talk_ ,” Tim ordered. His eyes glared into Jon’s. He tried not to shrink back under the stare.

“This is...going to sound completely mad,” Jon said, “but um...well, I’m from the _future_.”

Tim laughed. “The _future_? Seriously? You expect us to believe that?”

“I know it sounds ridiculous, but I can-”

Tim took a step toward him. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t just drag you back up to the Institute and see what everyone else thinks.”

Jon stepped back. “Look, Tim, I can explain-”

“You didn’t even get his face right!”

He was suddenly struck by the Knowledge that Tim had encountered the Stranger before, and it was entirely possible that he was thinking that he was a bad copy of himself. “Tim, I’m _real_! If you would just-”

“Tim,” Sasha said. Sasha stared into Jon’s eyes and softened slightly. “I think he might be telling the truth.”

“You can’t be serious, Sasha.”

She nodded at Jon. “Look at him,” she said. “You said you never saw him come out of that room, and he must have known about these tunnels. He looks and sounds _exactly_ like Jon, and he’s terrified.”

“Did you forget where we work at? For all we know, he’s some monster in disguise!”

Jon figured it was best not to comment on how he actually sort of was.

“If you’re so sure, then why would you go anywhere near him?”

Tim crossed his arms again. “Because I’m not a _coward_.”

“Are you saying that I _am_!?”

Jon raised his hand. “Um...i-if I may, I er...I might be able to prove myself?”

Tim whipped his head back toward him. “Oh yeah? How do you plan on doing that, then?”

He took a shaky breath. If this backfired, Tim might actually attack him. He _really_ didn’t want to fight the man. Still, he had to try and calm him down. Also Sasha, apparently, because she now looked incredibly pissed at Tim. Her eyes were like daggers. “I-I know about Danny,” he said, his voice soft. Calm. He needed them to be calm. “I’m _not_ like one of those things you saw. I _am_ Jon.”

Tim didn’t move. His eyes bored into Jon like he was trying to search straight into his soul. Sasha glanced at Tim expectantly. Did she know? Jon supposed it would make sense; they were always going out for drinks back before...well…

“How?” Tim asked. His voice was stony and sharp, like the cliffs surrounding the Lonely where he’d found Martin.

“You told us,” Jon replied. He stepped a bit further into the light of Sasha’s torch. “You told us what happened, because the circus came here, and they wanted to end the world. We- _you_ stopped them.”

Tim watched him for another moment, then opened his mouth as if to say something. Sasha beat him to it. “What happened after that?” she asked.

Jon gulped. “Th-the building exploded. H- y-you, Tim...you died. You died avenging him.”

Tim shuddered. “Well then,” he said. He seemed calmer now. More reserved. Thank Christ.

Sasha leveled her eyes with Jon’s. “What about me?”

“Y-you were already g-gone. Much longer ago.”

“And you’re here to change that?”

Jon stood a little bit straighter. “I’m going to do everything within my power.”

“How did you get here?” Tim asked. He still watched him warily, but he seemed to at least be _attempting_ to believe him.

“There’s um...there’s an entity. Right now it- _they_ , are going by Helen. She um...she has a thing with distorting reality. She sent us back, and here we are.”

“Who’s we?”

“Oh! Erm...Martin and I.”

Tim clapped his hand over his mouth. “M-Martin…? You mean…?”

Jon sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “Y-yes. I’m afraid that wasn’t actually the same Martin you know. We asked him to stay home for a bit so we could figure out some sort of plan. _My_ Martin was taking his place so he could alter things a bit more subtly.”

“So when I walked in on Tim and Martin chatting,” Sasha said, “that was actually Martin from the _future_?”

“Yes.”

“And when I walked in on you and Martin…?” Tim asked hesitantly.

Jon cleared his throat. “M-my Martin. Not yours.”

Tim groaned. “Sasha, give me my money back.”

Sasha snickered, but didn’t make any move for money. “What happened that was so bad for you to need to go back in time to prevent?” she asked.

A cold wind flowed through the tunnels. Or maybe that was just Jon’s nerves. “The world ended,” he said distantly. Already, he was losing himself in the horror and terror of what he’d done, and what was going to happen after. The Fourteen had all arrived into their world, and there was nothing he could do anymore. He’d had no power. He was just the Gatekeeper, and he’d let them through. All his fault, all his fault-

“You said I died _saving_ the world,” Tim growled. “So which is it?”

“You _did_ , Tim,” Jon said. He wished he could make them See. Make them Understand. Or maybe he didn’t--no one deserved that Knowledge forced upon them. “It’s just...they weren’t the only ones to make the attempt.”

“Who would be so bloody stupid to end the _world_ , ‘Jon’?” He made quotations with his fingers when he said his name.

“Well, for starters, Elias.”

Sasha raised an eyebrow. “Elias? What’s he got to do with this?”

Jon took a deep breath. If he was going to get his...his _friends_ to believe him, he’d need to explain from the beginning. They sat down in the middle of the tunnels, and he began to explain from the beginning. From Jane Prentiss and Gertrude’s murder, to Not-Sasha and the murder of Jurgen Leitner, to his own lack of humanity and the terrible, _terrible_ things he’d done because of it. When he spoke of the true 'Magnus Archives' and what Elias had done to him, he didn’t dare to look at their judging eyes. He knew what he would see. The only person he _didn’t_ see it in was Martin, and that was just because Martin was too blinded by love that he _refused_ to see Jon for what he was. He didn’t want to keep seeing those stares of horror at what he’d done. They couldn’t understand. _No one_ could. Not even Martin. Not _really_.

They sat there in silence once he finished. He stared at the ground, wishing just a bit that he could displace himself in reality like Martin used to be able to do. Then again, he knew that he needed to face the people he wished were his friends. He knew that they were going to drag him back to the Archives. If they didn’t make him answer for his many, _many_ crimes, then they’d certainly drag him to Elias. Then Elias would kill him, and there would be nothing that he could do. Or maybe they would just leave him there. He supposed that would be preferable. But then...would Elias just kill _them_ because they knew too much?

A broad hand placed itself on his shoulder. A smaller one went on his other side. He looked up. Tim and Sasha stared at him not with disgust and hatred, but with worry and...pity? And there were tears in Sasha’s eyes. Tim nodded his head at Jon. “We believe you,” he said quietly.

Was he dead, and this was his punishment? For people to pretend to believe him, only for them to get hurt and killed later on? He supposed it would be fitting for something like him.

Sasha smiled at him. “We’ll figure it out, Jon,” she whispered. “But I think we should probably go. Wouldn’t want Elias to find us.”

“Y-yes I...I suppose you’re right,” Jon sniffled. He hadn’t even realised he’d been crying. They all got to their feet, and Jon started in the direction they had come in.

Then he felt it. A gnawing terror clawing through his soul. Something was happening. Something had gone horribly wrong. He gripped his chest and braced himself against a wall. Tim and Sasha’s voices of concern and confusion were distant. Distorted.

_I See you, my dear Archive._

“W-we need-”

The squirming fear dug into his heart. _Martin_ . _Martin was in trouble_ . He knew it. He _Knew_ it. He could See Martin now, stumbling down the steps into the tunnels clutching his head like he was afraid it would fall off. He was trailed by a quiet younger Jon, and Elias wasn't far behind.

Then his Vision distorted again and he collapsed. Martin, he needed to...he had to…Martin...

Everything went dark.


	12. Chapter 12

Martin collapsed into the corridors of the Spiral, with Jon landing on top of him. Both of them scrambled back to their feet, breathing heavily. Helen closed the door, smiling at them.

“Th-thank you, Helen,” Martin gasped.

Jon’s face was red. He kept stuttering complete nonsense and staring wide-eyed at Helen. He didn’t even really seem to be saying _words_ anymore.

Martin lightly touched his arm. “It’s all right, Jon,” he said. “Helen’s on our side.”

“Or close enough to it,” Helen giggled. A loud bang sounded on the door behind them. Martin and Jon jumped, but Helen continued to laugh. “Jonah sounds angry.”

“Open the door right now, you revolting excuse for an avatar!” Elias’s voice cried from beyond.

Martin joined Helen’s laughter. “Can’t hear you, Jonah! There’s too much Distortion!”

Jon sank to the ground and clutched his head in his hands, staring at the two of them as if they were complete aliens. Admittedly, Helen sort of _was_ , but Martin was...well he’d certainly _changed_ , but he was still himself! His heart twisted. This Jon hadn’t been through any of the hell that his own Jon had, and that meant that he hadn’t had a chance to accept the ridiculousness that was their reality. He hadn’t even _encountered_ anything paranormal except for the Web Leitner, yet! Dammit, he was being an idiot; of _course_ Jon would be freaking out!

He knelt down beside the younger version of his favourite person and tried to get him to notice him. “Hey,” he whispered. “It’s going to be all right.”

Jon’s hollow gaze didn’t look at him. “You say that, but _is it_?”

Martin glanced at Helen. “Hey um...would you mind giving us a moment?”

Helen dramatically flipped her hair. “Of course I can! Of course, I could also just _leave_ you here.” She smiled.

Martin rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but you wouldn’t have sent us here, and you wouldn’t have saved us if you wanted to kill us.”

“Oh, I suppose that’s true,” she sniffed, waving her hand dismissively. “Yes, yes. Have your moment. I need to find your Archivist, as I do believe he’s _also_ in trouble. I swear, you simply _cannot_ stay out of it, can you?”

Martin ignored her and turned back to Other Jon. He had to trust Helen to rescue his own Jon. Hopefully she actually _would_.

Other Jon still stared at him, looking as lost as Martin had felt during his time with the Lonely. He supposed it made sense. It wasn’t exactly _normal_ to jump into a separate dimension of endless corridors and mirrors. It _definitely_ wasn’t normal to have someone you knew travel back in time and drag you into places you never knew existed while being chased by your boss who happened to be a body-snatching murderer.

Dear God, when had _that_ become _normal_?

“So,” Martin said. “I um...I travelled back in time because of, well, _her_. The Jon from my timeline and I are trying to save the world. F-from Elias.”

Jon didn’t say a word as he brought him up to speed, although he skimmed over some of the finer details. Namely, Jon’s _condition_ as the Archivist and what the 'Magnus Archives' really meant. “What we really need to focus on right now is rescuing _your_ Martin from Jane Prentiss,” he said.

“And how do we do that?”

Martin grimaced. He hadn’t really gotten that far just yet. “As long as we can meet back up with _my_ Jon, then we should be able to come up with something.”

Jon bit his lip—a little quirk that Martin found quite cute, actually. “How um...how _different_ is he?”

“He’s still _you_ , Jon.”

“You said he was ‘more than human’.”

He had. “That doesn’t mean he’s not the same person.”

“Does he believe that?”

Martin scratched at his arm absentmindedly. “Still um...still working on that one.”

“Then you should understand why I’m hesitant to agree.”

He supposed that Jon had a point, but that didn’t mean he agreed. “Either way, Helen seemed to think that he was in trouble again, and I’d rather not lose the only person I’ve got left.”

Jon didn’t meet his eyes.

“All done, boys?” Helen’s voice called. She materialised in front of them from some mirror just past Martin’s view. Her hands curled together and she smiled. Her lips pulled too far up her face.

“Think so,” Martin replied. “Is Jon okay?”

She propped open a door that hadn't been there a second ago. "Have a look."

Jon lay crumpled on the ground, clutching at his head. Tim and Sasha hovered next to him, arguing about what they should do. Jon...wasn't moving.

Martin sprinted out to him, skidding on the dusty tunnel floors to a halt next to Jon. Other Jon tiptoed after him, glancing around warily at Helen, at Jon on the floor, and the darkened walls of the tunnels. Martin could deal with him, and Tim, and Sasha later. _His_ Jon needed him.

He cupped his hand under Jon's head and gently pulled him into his lap. He was breathing, at least, but that was the only good news he had. A thin stream of blood trickled out of his ears and from one nostril. His breath was light, and his skin was paler than normal, taking on an almost sickly tone. Martin leaned down. "Hey," he whispered into Jon's ear, brushing away some of the blood crusted on it. "Wake up, Jon."

Jon didn't stir, and for one panicked second, Martin was afraid that maybe he’d fallen into a coma again. But no, he was breathing this time, so that had to count for something. Yes, this was bad, but Jon was most definitely alive. His eyes moved wildly under his eyelids. Dreaming? He must be, but what of?

Martin gathered Jon into his arms and lifted him off the ground. Helen still stood there smirking. Tim, Sasha, and Other Jon watched him warily. "W-we should get out of here," he muttered, not looking at any of them. "Don't want...don't want Elias to find us."

"And we need to find Martin," Other Jon rumbled, crossing his arms. He was staring at Martin's Jon with wide eyes. " _O-our_ Martin, that is."

Tim glanced at Jon. "Is he okay? _That_ Jon said they'd swapped places."

Martin shifted the Jon in his arms, grateful when he heard the man sigh and lean into him. Hopefully he would wake up soon. "That was the plan, but he's being attacked right now. A-and we need to go rescue him. Right now."

Sasha tilted her head and adjusted her glasses. "Why would someone attack _him_?"

A creeping sense of being watched tickled the back of his neck. "I-I'll explain in a minute. We should get out of here."

Helen grinned. "I'll take you back up, but I'm not taking you to the Corruption."

"Th-that's fine, Helen. Thank you."

The Distorted Lady opened the door and gestured for them to enter. Martin didn't hesitate, and the other three followed reluctantly behind him.

The familiar twisted hallways greeted them on the other side, and Martin turned to keep an eye on Helen. Sure, she was helping them, but that didn't necessarily mean that she was on their side. Plus, holding Jon in his arms was making him feel a bit more protective than usual.

Helen stepped past him and opened a new door--one that appeared to lead out into an alleyway somewhere in London. "There you are," she said.

"Why are you helping us?"

Martin glanced back. The question had come from the other Jon. It didn't have the same power that his own Jon's questions did, but it was still a bit disconcerting.

"Well I quite liked the way the world was before," Helen replied. "The way things turned out, people were simply too afraid to open my doors. It's so hard to be satisfied on the occasional over-curious _child_."

So that was it. Much as he hated what Helen did, Martin wasn't really in any position to judge. After all, Jon had done some pretty awful things, too. Not all of it had been his _fault_ , of course, but he'd still done _some_ bad stuff. And Martin wasn't always the best, either. He decided that getting help from Helen was _far_ better than being trapped forever in an apocalyptic fearscape. "Thank you, Helen." he said.

He headed out the door before any of them could say another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now they are reunited. :)
> 
> Jon will be...just fine  
> (I'll let you decide which one, L-O-L)


	13. Chapter 13

Jon felt weightless. He felt like he was floating out in the Vast. Incomprehensible space existed around him for miles and miles, and he was nothing.

There was no warmth, but he wasn't cold. There was no light, but he could see just fine. Jonah Magnus lounged before him on a throne of eyes and blood. His crown stared at him unblinking.

Jon's head buzzed. He could feel Jonah pulling Knowledge out of him. He could feel himself breaking apart. But Jonah would not destroy him. He would try, but he would not succeed.

He glared at the man on his throne, all of his eyes focused and blazing with rage.

"So my plans succeeded," Jonah smirked. His eyes stared and Watched.

"They won't this time."

The man laughed, short and clipped. Jon tasted fear, and the Archivist inside of him drank it in like liquid ambrosia. For once, he wasn't even disgusted. "I am far more powerful than you, Jonathan," said Magnus.

"Not anymore."

That earned him a frown. “You don’t know what I’m capable of, boy.”

Jon scoffed. “And _you_ don’t know _anything_ about _me_.”

The dream faded to black. Only Magnus would orchestrate something so needlessly dramatic, Jon supposed. He blinked up at the wide, clouded sky above--so vast and unknowable. There were arms around him. Voices speaking. His head hurt.

“Jon?” someone whispered. The voice was very close to his ear. He could feel the tickle of breath on his cheek.

“Mmnnh,” Jon replied. Yet another example of his extraordinary eloquence.

The arms shifted, and his back touched solid ground. It was cold, and he reflexively curled up into the arms. He felt the owner of them smile. “Jon, it’s all right. Just wake up for me? Please?”

Jon pinched his hand lightly to pull himself back into reality. It was a rather useful trick he’d learned back in uni. He blinked a few times, and the blur in his vision cleared. Martin stared down at him. There was concern and love in those eyes.

 _Love. He loves me._ He still found it hard to believe.

Beholding alerted him that he was being watched by others nearby, and he craned his neck around to see who was there. Tim and Sasha glanced back and forth between Jon, Martin, and each other, clearly expecting things to get a bit more awkward. And then, of course, there was Other Jon.

He was...quite a sight to Behold. His counterpart was far younger, both in actual years and in experience. The grey tints in his hair had only just begun to grow in, and he kept everything cropped and close. Nothing like the hairstyle Jon kept now, with his long grey-and-black hair pulled into a ponytail. He wore different glasses, with thinner frames and pushed far too much down his long, thin nose. No wonder he had needed to get a new prescription, he thought wryly. There was also a significant lack of scars. No worms, no burns, no slit throats or missing ribs. Just himself, wholly.

Jon swore to keep it that way.

Other Jon cleared his throat. “S-so. Erm. Martin. We should go help him.”

Why did Martin need help? Martin was right there, holding Jon close enough that he could hear his heartbeat and feel every breath he took.

“You three go ahead,” Martin instructed. “We’ll catch up. Promise.”

Tim raised a hand. “No offense, but we have no idea how to handle worm monsters.”

Worm monsters? Beholding pressed in on him and filled him with Knowledge. Martin, the Martin from _this_ time, was under attack by Jane Prentiss. He was hiding in his flat. His fear begged for closer inspection.

Jon curled into Martin and tried to block out the hunger. There was so much to Know and See and Watch, and he was having one hell of a time holding back.

“Just spray them with the fire extinguishers. We should catch up before you have to deal with Prentiss.”

“And what if you don’t?”

Martin sighed. Jon could feel the weight of fear and stress mounting on him, and it hurt that the Archivist within relished it. “If we don’t get there soon, try to set off the fire alarms. It won’t kill her, but it should distract her long enough to give you a chance to get yourselves and Martin out of there.”

Sasha pushed up her glasses, frowning. “I can’t help but think that we need a better plan than this.”

“It’s all I’ve got just yet,” Martin sighed. “But we’ll catch up. Promise.

The Archivist sensed the others leave. They were scared. Terrified. He carefully examined that fear, catalogued it into his Archives. There were so many things they did not understand or Know, and it was delicious.

Jon moaned and tried to force his hunger down. He didn’t want to sustain himself this way. He knew it was wrong. He knew it would hurt them. It hurt _him_.

Martin brushed a gentle hand across his forehead before settling on holding his cheek. “It’s all right, Jon. They’ve gone.”

Jon reached his hand up and held Martin’s where it was. “I-I can’t keep doing this,” he muttered.

He could feel Martin’s eyes on him--watching and waiting ever so patiently. Martin didn’t say anything, but Jon could hear his thoughts as clearly as if they were his own. _I know. It’s not your fault. It’ll be okay. We’ll figure this out. We just have to deal with Magnus, and then we can figure this out. I love you. I love you._

Jon gasped. He’d never meant to glean Martin’s thoughts. He often forgot he could do that now. But it was more than that. He could feel _Martin_. Everything that made him who he was--all that love and kindness and patience and _love_. He was so wonderful, and Jon loved him with everything he was.

The brush of Martin’s thumb across his cheek pulled him further into reality. His face was the colour of sunlight, his hair the colour of a hearthfire. His eyes were deep, deep blue and ever so lovely. And the love within them was even more so.

Jon couldn’t pull his eyes away from the man cradling him in his arms. He didn’t want to. “I See you,” he whispered.

Martin giggled, and his thoughts erupted with a chorus of _I see you. I love you._

He reached up and cupped Martin’s cheek in his scarred hand. The kiss wasn’t as passionate as the first few had been, but it was long, and slow, and deep. Jon couldn’t hear Martin’s thoughts anymore, but he could feel them flitting about. Words didn’t form, but the feelings were so genuine it made him want to cry. Martin’s arm reached around and pulled Jon’s head closer. His fingers ran through his mussed hair in a gentle caress.

He wanted to stay like this forever--being held by the man he loved and feeling his emotions burn and twist and fade into sweet thoughts left unspoken. They still had a job to do, though. This...this could be resumed later. Later, when they were somewhere private and alone, rather than in a random alleyway in the middle of London.

Jon broke away, suddenly remembering that, yes, they were in plain view in the middle of London. His face flushed, and not just from the way Martin looked at him. Yes, this could resume when they _weren’t_ sitting outside where anyone could walk by and see them. He may have hopelessly fallen for this man, but he still had at least a _small_ sense of dignity!

“Ready, Jon?” Martin whispered. Jon loved the way his name sounded on his tongue--as if it meant so much more than just an identifier for his person. There was a history behind Martin saying his name. There was emotion behind it.

Jon pulled himself up one more time to give Martin’s cheek a small kiss. “Yes, Martin,” he murmured. There was a history in him saying Martin’s name as well. And there was love. So much love.

Martin squeezed his hand and helped him to his feet. “Right then. Let’s go help our friends. And our...other selves.”

They exited the alley hand in hand, and started off toward Martin’s old flat. Jon felt no fear; he only felt Martin.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for um...lots of worms. An unholy amount of worms. Also a bit of body horror.

Jon clicked his tape recorder on and took a deep breath. His day was only getting more and more confusing. Martin not acting like Martin, Martin not being the Martin he knew, then the tunnels, the nightmare hallways, and Future-Jon. There were...so many things going on, and he couldn’t even _begin_ to process it all.

The way Future-Martin had run straight to Future-Jon and picked him up without a second thought...it was a bit strange to him. Future-Martin had certainly acted a bit more familiar with him, but seeing him respond with instant care, and the way Future-Jon had curled closer to him he woke up was...something. He didn’t know how he felt about it all just yet.

Future-Jon’s scars were _terrifying_. The man looked like he’d been through hell and back, then back again. Had he plunged his hand into lava? And what about that slit across his throat!?

On one hand, he supposed that perhaps it was a good thing he was here in the present. Maybe Jon himself wouldn’t have to experience any of that. He certainly _hoped_ that was the case. He didn’t know how he would handle any of what must have happened. He didn’t know how _Future_ -Jon had managed it.

It didn’t matter. They were going to go fight a worm monster and rescue their own Martin from it. Made perfect sense, he supposed, in some bizarre way.

God, he just needed a few days to process this all.

“You good, boss?” Tim asked.

Jon shook himself out of his thoughts. “What do _you_ think?” he snipped.

“Point taken.”

Sasha threw him a glance. “None of that’s going to happen, you know,” she said. “He swore up and down that he wouldn’t let it happen again.”

Jon peered at her over his glasses. “What, are you reading my mind now?”

She shrugged. “You just had a look.”

He reeled in his emotions, forcing his face to remain neutral, if not just a little disapproving. Just because Future-Jon didn’t seem to care about appearances, _he_ still did. “Well I’m _fine_ , thank you.”

“Yeah right,” Tim snorted. “You’re the furthest thing from it. You know it’s all right to be freaked out by all this, right?”

Jon crossed his arms and averted his gaze. Sure, he was probably right, but he didn’t need to know that Jon agreed with him. He was _fine_. He was... _fine_.

He was very much not fine.

There was no time to dwell on it any further, though. They had arrived at Martin’s flat.

It looked completely normal on the outside. Just a brick-and-mortar building weathered with age. Jon supposed it would make sense for Martin to live in such a run-down little place. The man never seemed to have any money whatsoever, according to Tim and Sasha. He couldn’t help but wonder where his paycheck went, though. Martin didn’t exactly seem like the gambling type, and Jon was fairly certain he would know if his employee was on drugs. It wasn’t like Martin was a bad person, anyway. Maybe he was just constantly stockpiling tea or something.

What did it matter, anyway? He was here to _rescue_ Martin or something. He probably should lay off judging his financial decisions and work on ensuring he made it out alive.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Surprised, he pulled it out and glanced down. It was Martin’s number. Why was he calling? Had something happened? Or was he just scared?

Tim glanced over his shoulder. “You gonna answer that?”

Jon shoved the other man out of his face, but he also swiped the screen and held the phone up to his ear.

There was...something not right on the other end. Raspy breath that did not sound like Martin greeted him, and he had a sinking feeling he knew what it was coming from if the squirming sounds echoing through the speaker were anything to go off of.

“Aaaaaarchivisssst,” a voice hissed. Jon shuddered. His legs froze in place. “Too late.”

Then he heard it--the quiet sobbing.

Despite the hair standing up on the back of his neck, he had to know. He _had_ to. “What. Did you do. To Martin?”

The voice of Jane Prentiss giggled. “He will join us,” she said. “And he will die.” He could almost hear her smile.

The sounds of worms grew closer. Was that the sound from within her zombified corpse? No, no she had set the phone on the ground.

“J-Jon,” Martin gasped. “I-I-I’m s-sorry. I’m so sorry. P- _please_ don’t- don’t let me-” he cut off, gasping. Jon tried not to think of the worms squirming inside of him, eating through his flesh and tearing him apart. He tried not to imagine how much it must hurt. “I don’t want to die,” he sobbed.

Jon took a breath, steeling himself. Despite the way he tended to act, he _did_ care. Martin had been nothing but kind to him since they’d met, and he recognised that he might even be willing to call him a friend by now. He could even overlook his less-than-stellar performance. “We’re on our way, Martin,” he said, trying to keep his voice crisp. He felt his throat hitch, though. Someone else was going to die because of him, and this time it was someone he might not actually hate. “J-just hang on.”

“N- _no_! No, she- she’ll kill you, too!”

“We’ll figure something out. Just hold on. We’ll be there shortly.”

The connection cut. Jon lowered the phone from his face slowly. Was he scared? Certainly. He also didn’t want Martin to face such a horrible end. No wonder their future selves had come back, if things had only gotten worse. Future-Martin had seemed to think they would if they didn’t interfere.

Tim and Sasha stared at him, eyes wide. They hadn’t heard Martin’s pleas for help, then the utter terror of it when it was offered. They hadn’t heard Jane Prentiss taunting him. They’d only heard Jon.

“She broke in, didn’t she?” Sasha whispered.

Jon nodded.

“But he’s still alive?”

Jon nodded.

Tim cracked his knuckles. “All right, then. Let’s go kill some worms before he’s not.”

Jon nodded.

The building itself didn’t show too many signs of worm-related activity. Really, it didn’t show signs of _any_ activity. Surely Martin wasn’t the only person living there? That sounded far too lonely, even by Jon’s standards.

There were, however, a few of the silvery monsters here and there. Opening the door released a fairly sizable amount of them. The hallway wasn’t exactly _covered_ in them, but there were still far more than Jon had ever seen. He took one look and immediately started with the fire extinguisher. Tim followed suite.

They slowly worked their way through the building. Jon sincerely wished they had more fire extinguishers--they only had the ones that Future-Martin had directed them to grab on the short walk there. They’d bought every single one at that store--five in total. It must’ve been...very strange to be that cashier. Still, he could tell that it wasn’t going to be enough.

They needed to find Jane Prentiss. They needed to _kill_ her and save Martin.

The closer they got to Martin’s flat, the more intense the infestation became. Soon, they coated the floors, the walls, even the _ceiling_. And that squishing squelch seemed to come from everywhere. They were only down to their last two extinguishers, too, and they still hadn’t found Prentiss herself.

They were close, though. Martin’s flat should be at the end of the next hall on the right. If they could just get there, they should be all right. Sasha and Tim were right beside him, too, and that gave him a bit of comfort he hadn’t expected.

There were worms behind them, slowly catching back up. There were worms in front of them, swarming toward them like a pack of hungry wolves. Several _thousand_ hungry wolves. Sasha turned and fled back down the corridor they’d come from. Jon didn’t blame her. But...she didn’t run _away_. She ran to the nearest fire emergency switch and flipped it, sending a breathtakingly loud alarm shrieking through the air.

The worms backed away, seemingly affected by the sound. Jon and Tim sprayed through them with extreme prejudice. Sure, some survived, but as long as they could get to Prentiss, Jon believed they would have a chance. Future-Martin had mentioned something in the nightmare tunnels about the worms all being connected to Prentiss. If they could kill her, then ideally the worms would die as well.

He _really_ hoped that was the case.

He could hear Martin now, gasping in pain. He could hear Jane Prentiss as well, cooing at him to join her, to let go. Jon’s lip curled into a snarl. How _dare_ she do this to him when he’d done absolutely nothing to deserve it. If _anyone_ deserved it, it was _him_ for having treated Martin so poorly in the first place!

Without thinking, he kicked through the door and confronted the horror head-on. Jane Prentiss whirled around, worms slinging from her oily black hair. Her red dress hung in tatters from her frail body, and worms pulsed and heaved and _thrived_ within her. Dried blood caked her form.

Jon held his breath and sprayed the monster with CO2 and didn’t let up, even when she lunged at him and threw him to the ground.

He felt the worms bite into him. He didn’t care. As long as she died, he would live. So would Martin. He had to believe that.

Where were Future-Jon and Future-Martin? Why weren't they here helping him?

He vaguely heard Tim above him, screaming at the top of his lungs. Jon felt himself screaming, but it was distant. So was the pain. The thrumming of worm-song pulsed within him. He laughed. He laughed, and laughed, and laughed until he choked on the CO2 filling the air.

Jane Prentiss screamed.

The weight of her body left him, and he kept spraying. The extinguisher was almost empty. Tim kept screaming. Jon kept laughing.

And Jane Prentiss fell silent. 

She collapsed against the wall and nearly fell to pieces. Worms scattered under her corpse, writhing in their death throes. Jon could still feel the ones inside of his flesh--could still hear the scream still echoing in their song.

All fell still.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO 161 RIGHT??  
> Everything about that episode was amazing. I won't say anything more just in case someone hasn't listened to it yet, but Jonahlias is a very punchable man and Jon needs a hug. I loved it.
> 
> Anyway, here's a new chapter, and it's short but sweet. Next week, we'll find out what happened to the other Jon and Martin...
> 
> TW: bit of body horror. Worms are bad about that...

Tim's shoulders slumped, and he dropped his depleted extinguisher. Sasha was nowhere to be seen. Martin hadn't moved from the corner. He cried softly.

Pain ate at Jon. He could feel the tunnels carved into his legs, his chest, his face. Could feel the dead creatures under his skin resting in their new graves. Tear tracks ran down the sides of his face. He didn't move. He scarcely dared to breathe.

"I'm gonna go get help," Tim said. He practically sprinted out of the room.

Jon pushed himself painfully to his knees. He didn't even make an _attempt_ to stand. Every part of him screamed at him to stop, but he painstakingly crawled his way over to Martin. The man still hadn't moved. Was he really still alive? What if he became the new Flesh Hive now that Prentiss was dead?

One way to find out, he supposed. He cautiously placed a hand on Martin's shoulder. There was blood everywhere. On him, on his clothes, on the floor and wall.

But Martin blinked his eyes open and squinted at Jon. Tears fell, and his body was wracked with yet another sob.

"J-Jon?" Martin asked. He sounded so very weak. 

"It's all right, Martin," Jon whispered. His voice didn't sound like his own. His throat ached, and he hoped it was just from the screaming and not from any worms. "I-it's going to be all right."

Martin closed his eyes and his muscles seemed to unwind under Jon's palm. "It hurts," he said.

"I know."

"I can st-still feel them."

"So can I."

Martin blinked up at him again. "Why- why did you come for me?"

Jon sighed and absentmindedly stroked Martin's shoulder. "I think...I think I've realised that you're not so bad after all, Martin. I've treated you poorly ever since we started down in the Archives, but...the you and me from the future- I think they made me realise that I've been wrong. I-I wanted to...to start putting things right."

Martin chuckled, then coughed. Jon instinctively took his hand away. What had he been thinking anyway, touching Martin? The poor man had been touched enough by _worms_ , for Christ's sake!

"Thank you," Martin whispered once he managed to stave off his coughing fit. "I-I really appreciate that, Jon."

Jon sighed. He even managed to smile a little before the pain pulled his lips back down. He slumped there next to Martin and tried not to move too much. God, he hurt. He could only imagine how Martin must be feeling.

"H-hey Jon?"

"Mm?"

"I-if I don't...if I don't make it-"

"You will."

"But if I d-"

"You're _not_ going to _die_ , Martin." He wouldn't let him. Not if there was anything he could do about it. "Th-the ambulance will be here soon. W-we're _both_ going to make it out of here _alive_. Then we can yell at our future selves for letting this happen."

Martin chuckled again, then sighed. He lifted his head slightly and stared Jon in the eyes, smiled, then dropped his head back to the floor. He didn't take his eyes away.

"A-all right then."

"Good."

"When- when we _do_ get out of this," Martin said, "d- would you- would you like to go out sometime? W-with me?"

Jon sucked in a gasp. Was Martin asking him out on a date? It'd certainly _sounded_ like it. Here they were, covered in wounds made by monstrous _worm creatures_ , there was a _dead body_ against the other wall, and _Martin Blackwood_ had just asked him on a _date_. “I-I um. Er- well- um-” God, he was _blushing_. He was blushing, and it was because of _Martin Blackwood_. “Erm- s-sure?”

Martin laughed. It rolled out from deep inside his chest and kept coming, even though Jon knew it _had_ to hurt. It took him a moment to realise that Martin had grasped his hand, and that he was squeezing it back. And that _feeling_ in his chest--that warm, pulsing feeling that radiated out of his entire body...he felt light-headed. Maybe it was the thin air. Maybe it was Martin’s laughter, or Martin’s hand firmly clasped around his own.

“Great,” Martin finally said when he caught his breath. “Th-that’s um...tha- thank you.”

Jon shuddered inside. He hadn’t been on a date since he’d broken up with Georgie back in _uni_ for Christ’s sake! What was he _thinking_!? And both he _and_ Martin were essentially high on CO2 and pain! God, this could wind up a complete disaster, and that would mark Jon another possible friend down. But...he remembered the way Future-Jon had instinctively curled into Future-Martin, and the way that Future-Martin had run straight to Future-Jon and scooped him up into his arms, and the way Future-Martin had teased _him_...

Maybe somewhere deep inside of himself where he _refused_ to admit it, he wanted that, too. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt too much to try.


	16. Chapter 16

“We ought to have gotten something to eat before anything happened,” Martin snickered.

Jon smiled, gripping tightly to Martin’s fingers threaded through his own. “Speak for yourself.”

Martin frowned. “Just because you can live off of _literal fear_ doesn’t mean that _I_ can.”

“It was a joke, Martin.”

“Your jokes are terrible.”

“So I’ve been told.” He could sense Martin’s disapproval. Admittedly, the easiest thing for him to do was joke about his condition. If he thought about it too much, he feared that the Eye would consume him. He couldn’t let that happen—not now. He had Martin. Finally, _finally_ , he had Martin. Loving, kind, sweet Martin. If he lost himself now, what would it do to Martin?

He just wouldn’t let himself fall, then. He could do that—for Martin.

“Maybe once we finish dealing with the Prentiss issue, we can stop by a café,” Jon suggested. Martin’s hand tightened almost minutely, but Jon Saw. It was a tight, quick impulse that clenched his hand two millimeters closer than it had. Fear radiated from him. It was so subtle, but the Archivist leaned in closer for a whiff.

Jon recoiled at the desire and pushed it back down. Feeding off of Martin’s fear was not allowed. It was bad enough that he’d been seeing him in his dreams ever since they’d escaped the Lonely. He certainly didn’t want to do any further damage. “Is um…is dealing with this again going to…?”

Martin smiled sadly. “I’ll be all right, Jon. I know you won’t let anything happen.”

Jon shuddered. “Of course I wouldn’t. I’d throw myself in the way before I let her anywhere near you.”

Martin threw his arm around Jon and pulled him close, pressing his lips into Jon’s hair. “Not allowed, but I appreciate the gesture.”

A few people passed them on the sidewalk, smiling at them. Jon’s face burned. "Must you?" he asked. He'd much rather be a bit more _private_ about their relationship, even if he didn’t quite know what that was just yet. Even back when he and Georgie were together, he hadn't been very into the idea of every stranger on the street knowing they were dating. He rather enjoyed his privacy.

Martin smiled, loosely clasping his hand again with his arm still wrapped around his shoulders. "I will shamelessly love my boyfriend no matter where we are. Deal with it."

Jon's face became hotter. He almost feared he was about to get lost in the love Martin was projecting toward him. "B-boyfriend?" he managed to stutter. They hadn't exactly _discussed_ that yet. Not that he was complaining by _any_ means. It was just...a bit of a surprise suddenly being referred to as Martin's boyfriend.

Martin shrugged. "Doesn't really capture what we are, if you ask me, but I like seeing you blush."

This, of course, made him blush more. He was _very_ conscious of how he must look to the rest of the world. To Jonah Watching them from a distance. "W-we have a _job_ to do, you know!"

"Of course I _know_ , Jon," Martin chuckled. "I'm _distracting_ myself by shamelessly loving you."

"Right." It made sense; Martin was scared. So was Jon. At least Martin was brave. He could joke in the face of one of his worst fears. Jon couldn't do the same very effectively. Now he felt bad, though. "Sorry."

"It's fine." Martin tugged him closer, and Jon willed himself not to be as embarrassed by it as before. Being wrapped in Martin's arms was...quite nice. He _did_ enjoy that. Now if he could only get over that irrational fear of judgement from the rest of the world, he'd be fine.

They neared the old flat. It loomed before then in all its worm-infested glory. Jon could See them writhing and squirming this way and that. The others were already inside. They'd taken all the extinguishers, it seemed. That was...less than fortunate. Hopefully they could catch up without getting injured. It wasn't like they had any weapons apart from their knives.

A chill bit through the air. Jon leaned closer toward Martin, but Martin...wasn’t there anymore. London was... _gone_.

_No…_

Gentle waves lapped at his feet, an endless beach stretched before him. The last of the real world faded out of existence and was replaced with mist and fog.

 _Martin. Where is_ Martin _!?_

He spun around, searching. His Eyes cut through the fog, but the fog cut him back. He wanted to scream. But he knew that no one would hear him.

The cold settled into his bones. He was...alone. There was no one here. Nothing. He’d been Forsaken.

“You’ve _really_ managed to interest Elias, you know,” chirped an all-too-familiar voice. Jon Looked, and the Lonely fled like dark from the light.

Peter Lukas raised his bushy eyebrows, but took a step toward Jon as if he were perfectly at ease. The Archivist could sense the man struggling to escape his Eyes. He responded by pinning him to reality, forcing him to stay solid within the moment. Peter grimaced, but his smile stayed up.

“What have you done?” Jon asked. He put every ounce of compulsion into his voice that he could. Three tape recorders manifested on the sand beside his feet. He did not care. He needed to know where Martin was. He needed to _Know_.

Peter’s eyes grew wide, and the Archivist felt him struggle. It was in vain, of course, but the Archivist pressed him further, Watching him struggle.

“I-I brought you h-here,” Peter choked, the words ripped directly from his throat. “E-Elias needed you o-out of the way.”

“Is this about his ritual?”

“Y-yes. Of course it is.”

“Where is he?”

Peter dropped to the ground, gasping. The Archivist drank in his fear like choice wine. “Th-the prison. P-Panopticon. Please- please stop.”

Jon knew he should. Peter hadn’t done anything to him--not this one, at least. But he wanted to tear every essence of him away. He wanted to _destroy_ Peter Lukas. “Where is _Martin_?”

Peter clutched his head. Blood ran from his eyes, his ears, his nose. The Archivist was rupturing the man’s mind, and he did not relent. He had what he needed, but he pressed, and pressed, and _pressed_ until all of the Knowledge he _wanted_ was neatly filed away within his Archive. Peter Lukas’s form wavered, then faded to mist.

Jon gasped. There was nothing left of the man he’d just- God, what had he done?

No time to think on it. He needed to get to Martin. Martin was scared. He could feel it. He was alone and scared, and the Lonely wanted to consume him even more wholly than before.

Jon turned toward the scent of fear and sprinted to where he Knew Martin would be. Not even the Lonely would separate them. He swore it--both back in the safehouse and now. He would not abandon Martin. Not ever, no matter what he became.

No matter how far he fell.

“Martin!” he called. “Martin!”

A lone figure sat in the sand, absentmindedly watching it fall from his hands. “Martin!” Jon cried.

Martin turned to look at him, but his eyes were vacant. Had the Lonely already reclaimed him? No, no it couldn’t have. It’d only been a few minutes. Hadn’t it?

Jon reached out and placed his hand on Martin’s arm. There was still some warmth there, but his eyes had faded to the dull grey they’d been all during his time serving the Lonely. “Martin?”

Martin blinked, but said nothing. Had the Lonely robbed him of his voice now?

They needed to leave. They needed to escape this dreadful place and find somewhere warm and inviting, surrounded by friends, or even just _each other_. Jon reached his hands under Martin’s arms and lifted him to his feet. He felt light--like he wasn’t really there. Jon took his hand and led them away from the awfulness. He spoke to him softly, reminding him of who he was. What they were. “I love you, Martin. You’re real. _I_ am real. I’m here. You’re not alone. I’m here, Martin. You’re not alone. I love you…”

The mist faded around them. The sounds of London resumed. People chattered nonsense, cars honked at pedestrians, music spilled from a bar down the street. Jon did not stop pouring his love out to Martin.

“I’m here, Martin. I’m here for you. You’re not alone…”

“Jon?”

Martin’s voice had never sounded so beautiful. Jon tugged Martin a little closer, hoping the warmth of his body would loose the Lonely still lingering within him. “It’s all right, Martin. We’re all right. I’m here.”

Martin let out a sigh, like a half-contained laugh. “I…y-you were gone and then…and then I couldn’t…”

Jon rubbed Martin’s back. “It’s all right. I’m here now.”

“I-I think I need to sit down.”

That made sense. Jon was connected to the Eye; the Lonely could not take him. But Martin…Martin was unaffiliated with any of the Fears. He was vulnerable. Just interacting with those touched by the Fears put him in danger. Jon’s heart burned with guilt.

He gently tugged Martin over to a bench on a bus stop. He would’ve preferred a park somewhere, maybe a bit further away from the crowds, but this would do.

Martin leaned into him, his body shaking. “You came for me.”

“Of course I did.”

They sat there for a while, their breath in sync. Jon held Martin close, and silently swore he wouldn't let any of the Powers anywhere near him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a lot of pieces of this chapter that I like, but overall it's not my favorite of them. The best are coming, though, and soon all will be well.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're in for the final stretch! Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Featuring: A reasonably pissed-off Tim and copious amounts of tape recorders.
> 
> TW: more worms. It's not that bad this time, but they do exist.

“Can you stand?” the police woman asked him.

Jon nodded, still clutching tightly to Martin’s hand. The other man had passed out a few moments ago, and he was...very afraid. He didn’t want Martin to die, and it wasn’t _just_ because he’d just asked him out on a date. “I-I _think_ so,” he croaked.

The woman hauled him to his feet, and he gasped. The pain was...immense. Like a thousand fires burning in every pore of his skin. And there was still that twisting, gut-wrenching feeling of something _wrong_ being _inside_ of him. His movement caused a worm to slip out from beneath his skin. It hit the ground with a sickening squelch.

The detective let go of his arm and leaned down to lift Martin. He didn’t make a sound, and even _he_ seemed small in her arms, despite her being even shorter than Jon himself. She certainly must’ve been strong, though; Martin wasn’t exactly the thinnest person that Jon had ever met. Of course, he...didn’t really mind that. He wondered what it would be like to hug Martin, just for a moment. _He must be very soft._

He needed to stop thinking like this. He could...consider his feelings about Martin later. Later, when they were _not_ half dead from worms.

Jon followed the detective out. EMTs swarmed around him, pulling him away to some sort of quarantine they’d set up. There were tweezers, and worms, and then he was being bundled up in a shock blanket and thrust into the ambulance. He sat off to the side while the paramedics fussed over Martin. He really hoped Martin would be okay.

* * *

Jon watched as Other Jon and Other Martin were hastily carried away from the scene. Martin stood next to him, shivering in the cold that only they could feel. Their breath steamed.

The unintended journey through the Lonely had left both of them rather fatigued, and he had hoped that the others would have it handled. He hadn’t really expected... _this_. Guilt gnawed at his chest, and the Lonely whispered in the back of his mind. He wouldn’t fall prey to it, but Martin...he hoped that by staying at his side, Martin wouldn’t fade. He wouldn’t lose him. He made sure to keep his Eyes on him. Maybe it would spook the Lonely away.

“Where the _hell_ have you two been?” snarled a voice from behind. Tim.

Jon turned, the movement sending a chill running through him. Martin gripped his hand that much tighter.

Tim moved toward them with a purpose. He was...very pissed, to say the least. “You said you would _help us_!” he shouted, pointing directly in Jon’s face. He supposed he deserved that. “And what, you just go and _disappear_!? No! _Hell_ no! My friends got eaten by _worms_ because of you!”

Jon shuddered. It was all entirely too reminiscent of times before, when Tim had been mad at him for...other reasons. “I-I’m sorry,” he whispered. There was nothing else he _could_ say; the lump in his throat and in his chest was too large.

“W-we d-didn’t have a choice,” Martin chattered. The cold of the Lonely still swirled around his skin. Wisps of it clung to him like dew to a leaf. “W-we were attacked, t-too.”

“By _what_?”

“It was the Lonely,” Jon replied, staring at the ground. “One of the Powers. I-its avatar came after us. Elias sent him.”

“And where is he now?”

“Dead.”

It’d hurt. It’d...really hurt. Peter was still...somewhat human. Perhaps beyond saving, but partially human nonetheless. He had never given himself to becoming a _complete_ monster. And now he’d killed the man _twice_ ! What did that make _him_? A monster? or was he still human?

Two police detectives stalked toward them. Jon’s heart swelled at the sight of his old friends, only to die down when he remembered that they didn’t actually know him at all.

Basira’s eyes scanned him up and down, then she did the same to Martin. “Care to explain?” she said, cocking her head to the side.

Daisy crossed her arms and stood beside Basira. Jon glanced warily at the gun beside her hip. “I um...yes. We can explain,” he stammered.

“Go on then,” Daisy growled. Jon tried not to remember what had happened to her. What he’d _let_ happen to her.

He quickly ran through the basics of who they were, their situation, skimming over most of the details of exactly how they’d gotten there and their relations with the two detectives.

“So um...basically. Yes, we’re them, but...also we’re _not_ them…” he finished rather blandly. Martin chuckled and tightened his hand around Jon’s. The Lonely finally seemed to have loosed its grip on him.

Basira looked like her mind was going at light speed trying to process. Daisy’s expression hadn’t changed, but Jon had gotten to know her well enough that she was oscillating between believing them and flat-out denying it. Jon had a pretty good idea what would happen if she landed on denial, and he really hoped Basira would have enough sense to disarm her partner in that case.

“Prove it.”

Jon blinked. “Sorry?”

Basira’s lip quirked up. “Prove your story,” she said. “I’m not sure if you realise this, but that’s a hell of a lot to ask someone to believe. So prove it.”

“R-right. Yes, of course.” Right. Prove it. How was he going to prove it?

He started by removing the tape recorders that had accumulated in his jacket pockets. There were five of them in there, and they really shouldn’t have been able to fit. He knew they’d be back later, of course, but it was nice to remember that he could now hide his hideous scars within the confines of those pockets. Then he pulled the tape recorder from his back pocket before reaching into Martin’s jacket pocket and pulling out two more. “There’s also one in Bas- er- Detective Hussain’s back pocket, and Tim has one as well,” he said.

Tim had been fairly silent this entire time. He’d stood there and watched, listening to the abbreviated version of Jon and Martin’s tale. He didn’t look nearly as angry anymore, at least. Not that Jon blamed him. Tim had every right to be angry. Now, though, he looked surprised when he found a tape recorder in his jacket pocket that hadn’t been there before. He flashed Jon a look filled with the classic Tim-esque humour that Jon had missed before he threw the thing onto the growing pile of tape recorders. Basira tossed hers onto the pile as well.

Jon Looked around for a moment. “There’s also one on the ambulance that just left, and one in Sasha’s car back at the Institute. No, I don’t know what it’s doing there.”

“Have you got enough of these?” Daisy snorted.

“I’ve given up trying to get rid of them.”

Martin’s face was contorting in a very adorable way. His cheeks puffed and flushed with red. His eyes squinted, and Jon could feel his body shake with suppressed laughter. “It’s not _that_ funny, Martin,” he chided.

Martin finally burst. His laughter was, quite frankly, incredibly infectious. Jon couldn’t help but laugh along with him. Tim joined in eventually, and even Basira looked like she might be having a hard time holding in. There really were just... _way_ too many tape recorders. He ought to start selling them at this point.

“Right,” Basira giggled, “I think that might be enough proof.”

“Thank God,” Jon replied, working rather hard to get his diaphragm back under control.

“Vigilo. Audio. Opperior.”

Jon blinked. Everyone stared. “What was that, Martin?”

Martin raised an eyebrow. “I...didn’t say anything?”

“Yeah, you did,” Daisy said. Her entire form bristled, and it almost seemed as if something much larger and much more dangerous was trying to tear its way out of her skin.

Jon placed a hand on Martin’s forehead. He was...far warmer than usual. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I feel fine. Why are you all- Vigilo. Audio. Opperior. -looking at me like that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you just love it when your boyfriend starts hiccuping ominous phrases?


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you ever just want to go feral? Do you ever just want to stab some bitches?
> 
> TW: some possession, Jonah being a compelling bitch, knives doing a stab, slight dissociation, violence

Daisy was reaching for her gun. Basira caught her arm to stop her. Jon’s forehead crinkled with worry. His hand was still cool on his forehead. _What’s going on? Why do they keep looking at me like that?_ Martin wondered.

_Vigilo. Audio. Opperior._

Daisy got her arm free of Basira. She pointed the gun at him. Her eyes were wild. “Stop _saying_ that,” she spat.

He was saying something? What was he saying? Why was everyone looking at him like they’d seen a ghost?

Jon stepped between him and Daisy. “Put the gun down, Daisy,” he ordered. His voice was gentle, but strained. “We can’t figure out what’s happening if you _kill_ him.”

The urge to run away--to just _disappear_ \--swirled inside of him. The Lonely was calling to him again. He hunched down behind Jon, gripping his hand tightly. He wouldn’t disappear. Not again. He wouldn’t listen to the silence.

The feeling of being watched prickled the back of his neck. He felt himself unconsciously lean into it. Presumably Jon just had a few extra Eyes on him. Maybe he had sensed his need to hide within the fog and wanted to burn it all away. But...something didn’t feel right about it. It didn’t _feel_ like Jon. And Jon was looking right at him, now, in the flesh. He didn’t need all the extra Eyes.

So then...who was watching…?

_Vigilo. Audio. Opperior._

Now he could feel more Eyes. It felt like they were sprouting from the very fabric of reality. He could almost see them shimmering in the air around them. Some were Jon. Some were not.

He tried to ask what was going on--why everyone kept looking at him like they had suddenly been struck across the face. His mouth wouldn’t move. He couldn’t move his body. He was...numb. But not in the way the Lonely had made him numb. He felt...he didn’t know. There was something wrong, though. Something very wrong.

_Vigilo. Audio. Opperior._

His legs shifted, turned him away from Jon and the others. Someone grabbed his arm, but he couldn’t even look to see who it was. There were...voices. Jon. Begging with him. Pleading. He was saying words, but they did not sound like words. A figure watched him from a distance, staring at him with something that might have been pity before disappearing back into a yellow door that was not a door and was never there to begin with.

_Vigilo. Audio. Opperior._

Why couldn’t he think? Why couldn’t he move himself? What was happening to him?

_Vigilo. Audio. Opperior._

* * *

“Martin. Martin _please_!”

Martin blinked. The voices in his head had ceased. He didn’t know where he was, but it was dark. Could he speak, or was he still trapped in his own body?

“J-Jon…?”

“Oh thank Christ! Martin!”

Someone practically tackled him. Thin arms wrapped around his torso, and a heavily-breathing Jon settled his face into Martin’s chest. He smelled of sweat and fear.

“Jon, what’s going on?” he whispered. He didn’t know why he was whispering. It just seemed like the right thing to do at the time. “Wh-where are we?”

Torchlight landed on him. Jon’s hair had become a rat’s nest with how many times he’d run his hands through it. The ponytail was falling out. He was covered in grime. The person holding the torch was Basira. From what he could make out in the dim light, she wasn’t pleased. “Is he back now?”

“Y-yes,” Jon said, pulling away slightly. He still held Martin, and he stared into his eyes with those brilliant green ones of his. “Yes, he is.”

“Good,” said Tim’s voice, “then we should go. This place gives me the creeps.”

Daisy growled. “We’re not alone in here.”

“Well said, Hunter,” snickered an all-too-familiar voice. “It’s a shame you came along. I’ll have to kill all of you, now. And I _do_ hate getting my hands dirty.”

“Jonah,” Jon said.

Martin gulped. He tugged Jon a touch closer.

“Indeed, Archivist,” Jonah Magnus chuckled. “I must say, I _am_ impressed by your tenacity. It’s good to know that my plans succeeded in the end.”

Jon reached for his knife. Daisy shot wildly into the darkness, leaving Martin’s ears ringing. As if he didn’t already have a massive enough headache. He had a feeling he knew why, now. Or at least, he was slowly starting to piece things together. He wasn’t exactly as quick as Jon with this sort of thing.

“What do you want?” Martin called into the darkness that he knew--he _knew_ \--had to be the Panopticon.

Jonah laughed again. “I want my prize,” he replied.

Jon shuddered in his arms. “You won’t,” he said, his voice low and strained.

“Jonathan, my dear,” Jonah said, “I can _taste_ your fear. We both know that you don’t have a say in this anymore. You made your choice a long time ago.”

“I never asked for this.”

“But you craved it.”

Jon whipped around, his eyes blazing so brightly that Martin felt he would go blind if he stared into them for too long. “I was tricked!” he shouted. “And I won’t let it happen again!”

A sickly green glow emanated from the far side of the room. Daisy and Basira both gasped. Tim grunted in pain. Martin felt hundreds, _thousands_ , of eyes fall on him, Knowing everything about his entire being. His muscles tensed, but he didn’t give into the fear. He’d been Seen enough that it didn’t hurt him as much as it used to. Also he was pissed.

Jonah Magnus, wearing the body of Elias Bouchard, smiled at them coldly. His eyes pierced Martin’s inner being, and despite his own barriers, he couldn’t help but shiver under their strength.

He stood next to the throne that still held his desiccated corpse--his _first_ body. Everything had blackened and fallen into decay but the eyes, which stared at them just as brightly as Elias Bouchard.

Jon stiffened in Martin’s grasp.

“Now then,” Jonah said, his voice far too excited. “Jonathan, repeat after me.”

When he spoke, he did not say it with his own voice. The voice of the true Jonah Magnus seemed to fill the room. Jon went limp in his arms, his voice joining Jonah’s.

“ _You who watch and know and understand none. You who listen and hear and will not comprehend._ ”

Oh God. No. Absolutely not. This was not happening again.

“ _You who wait and wait and drink in all that is not yours by right._ ”

Blood dripped down Jon’s face like tears. Each word looked like it was being ripped right out of him. And it was all Magnus’s fault.

“ _Come to us in your wholeness. Come to us in your perfection._ ”

He had to do something. He couldn’t just stand there paralyzed while the man he loved brought the world to an end just as before. He couldn’t just do _nothing_. Fear clawed at his throat.

He had to stop this. He had to save the world.

Even if...even if it killed him, or Jon, or any of the others standing there with him.

“ _Bring all that is fear and all that is terror and all that is the awful dread that crawls and chokes and blinds and falls and twists and leaves and hides and weaves and burns and hunts and rips and leads and DIES!_ ”

He let go of Jon, blinking back his tears. The man stood, still chanting and his face clouded with a vacant slackness that his eyes did not reflect. Martin took his knife and held Jon steady. He pulled Jon’s out of his hand and readied both weapons.

“ _Come to us_.”

“I’m sorry, Jon,” Martin sobbed.

He plunged the knives into Jon’s eyes.

Jon did not scream. He simply collapsed, the spell broken. He did not open the door, despite Jonah still chanting the line. He did not move. He lay there on the floor of the Panopticon, small and crumpled.

And it was all Martin’s fault.

No, no. It was _Jonah’s_ fault. Jonah, who now stood there dumbfounded, his mouth open in a perfect ‘O’. Rage burned within Martin’s chest that he didn’t realise he was capable of. He wanted to rip this man apart. He wanted to tear him limb from limb until there was nothing left but blood and his silent scream. For a brief moment, he thought he could hear a drum beat in time with his pounding heart.

Jonah would pay for this.

Martin wouldn’t just save the world, he would _kill Jonah Magnus_.

He stalked toward the throne in the center of the room. Jonah didn’t even have a chance to react before Martin plunged his knives into Magnus’s corpse over and over, impaling his eyes so that he could never Watch or See or Know ever again.

Magnus screamed. He screamed and clutched his head, even though Martin had only attacked the original body. Martin didn’t stop. He stabbed the body again and again, all of the anger and hatred and disgust and _everything else_ that had been building up inside of him for _four years_ and maybe even longer than that finally finding release in killing this very man who had ruined so many lives. Who had _hurt Jon_.

He didn’t stop when the screams ended. He only stopped when he felt hands on his arms, gently guiding him away from the awful scene. Tim pulled the knives from his hands and tossed them off to the side. He pulled Martin into an awkward hug, and Martin sobbed.

They stood there for a long time.

Jon did not move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Martin gets a little vengeance. As a treat. :)


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost forgot to post today ahhhhhh!! Sorry about that!  
> Fear not. Things are finally drawing to a close. :)

Jon had no idea what time it was when he woke up, but he felt like he’d been run over by a few dozen buses. Bandages covered almost his entire body. At least he didn’t itch. That would have been a bad sign, he believed.

The hospital room was sterile, and there wasn’t a window. He could vaguely hear some people chattering in the hallway, but he couldn’t make out what anyone was saying.

He was in a lot of pain. It was dulled, like a bad toothache, but it covered all of him. He groaned, wishing he had the energy to move. But he didn’t have the energy, so he didn’t. Instead, he slipped back into a blissful state of unconsciousness and dreamed of Martin. It was nice, he decided.

* * *

Martin didn’t know where he was when he woke up. All he remembered were worms and pain. So much pain. He was still in pain. There was a line in his wrist, and he was reminded of his mother. He wondered if she knew what had happened yet. If she would even care.

He sighed. People ran down the hallway somewhere nearby, but no one came into the room he was lying in. He closed his eyes again and tried not to think about the pain in his gut. At least he couldn’t feel worms crawling around inside of him anymore.

Instead, he focused on Jon. Jon, who had come to save him. Jon, who had promised that he would survive the worms. Martin supposed he was right. He drifted off wondering if Jon would still be willing to go on that date with him after they got out of the hospital.

* * *

“Martin.”

“I’m not leaving him.”

“Martin, we should get out of here.”

“ _I’m not leaving him_!”

Tim took a step toward him, hand outstretched. “Look, I-I know you’re upset. I am, too. But...he’s gone, Martin.”

Martin cradled Jon’s head in his arms. The man had stopped breathing the moment Martin had plunged the knives into his eyes. CPR hadn’t been effective. _He’s not gone. He can’t be gone! He can’t…_

Basira knelt down beside him, pressing two fingers to Jon’s throat. “He’s dead,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

 _He’s been dead before, and he came back! He can’t be dead, he wouldn’t leave me!_ He wanted to say these things--to _scream them_ at this cruel, cruel world and make it _understand_. But all that came out were tears.

Maybe it was for the best. Jon had been through so much. He’d been hurt so many times, and maybe this was the universe’s way of finally letting him rest.

But Other Martin got to keep _his_ Jon! Why couldn’t he just have this _one thing_? All he wanted was to be with Jon in that blissfully happy state they’d lived in in Scotland before it all went wrong. All he wanted was to stay with Jon and grow old with him and feel his love and affection forever. Why couldn’t he have that? Why did everything have to go wrong when it had all been so right?

He sat there and let the tears flow. Jon was gone, and he was alone. He was so alone that even the Lonely didn’t try to comfort him.

* * *

“ _The moment that you die will feel exactly the same as this one._ ”

The words echoed in his mind. It had certainly _felt_ the same. But then, so had it during the Unknowing. All those moments in his life had felt the same: pain, fear, frustration. And now there was nothing. Was he dead? _Truly_ dead? Or was he simply floating in endless blank nightmares.

The moment the knives had pierced his eyes, he knew that it was the end. He’d wanted to thank Martin. For everything. All the things that Martin had ever done for him were so very appreciated, and he wanted him to know that. But he couldn’t speak as he fell to the ground. And he couldn’t speak _now_ , either.

But one thing was different. He didn’t feel the pain of a thousand scars tearing at his body. And he didn’t feel Beholding. He felt...more human than he had in a long time. Maybe that was because he was dying.

But he still didn’t particularly _want_ to die. He knew what would happen if he left Martin alone in that world. He didn’t want Martin to fall to the Lonely completely. Not like how he had fallen to the Beholding. And more than that, he wanted to hold Martin through those horrible nightmares. He wanted to whisper his love and gratitude into his ear and kiss him without the fear of being Seen. He wanted to be held by Martin on the bad days, because even though bad days came, he would have Martin. He wanted to be with Martin forever.

Perhaps these were merely the last desperate thoughts of a dying mind.

But if they weren’t...could he still come back? Could he fight back and win after all? He’d died before, and he’d chosen Beholding. Maybe this was his chance to renounce the Eye and return to life.

Life, where Martin was.

Life, where Jon wanted to be.

* * *

The sound of breath filling empty lungs had never sounded so wonderful to Martin in his entire life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ^u^


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to find a way to change this so that it made more sense chronologically, but I couldn't, and I didn't care enough to try harder. Thus, here is the end of the story (or is it?) in which the first section technically takes place weeks _after_ the second.  
> But dammit it was too cute I couldn't change a thing :D

It’d been several weeks since the incident. Jon pulled at his sleeve and tried not to think too much about what he’d agreed to. It was just _Martin_ , after all. Yes, it was a date, and yes, he hadn’t gone on one since uni, but it was _just Martin_.

Besides, it wasn’t like seeing his future self and future Martin had affected his thoughts or anything.

Oh, who was he kidding. It’d become pretty obvious that they were a couple, and while that _did_ tend to rub Jon the wrong way (it felt as if this path was already laid out for him and he had no choice in the matter), it wasn’t necessarily a _bad_ thing. It was...certainly bizarre, but so was a future version of yourself appearing and saving the world. Or rather, a future version of a _friend_ (he was _just a friend_ ) appearing and saving the world.

Tim had given him a semi-dramatic retelling of the story, and what he’d been able to glean from the two police officers had given him at least _most_ of the picture of what had happened. Elias had actually been Jonah Magnus possessing some poor researcher's body, he’d tried to end the world by forcing the Archivist to begin some sort of ritual, and Martin had stopped them. Apparently it had involved knives and lots of screaming.

He hadn’t seen what happened to Future-Jon. He wasn’t entirely sure that he _wanted_ to. All he needed to care about was the fact that he had no job, and he needed to find one very quickly. Which was exactly why this date was a waste of his time. He didn’t need to be here. He could easily slip away.

But no, that would be rude. Martin deserved a little better than that. Especially since he’d clearly experienced the worst of the worm infestation. Jon supposed he could at least grant him this. Then they’d probably never see each other again, because Jon would find a quiet researching job and Martin would do...whatever it was Martin would do.

Jon stepped into the little café and quickly picked Martin out of the crowd. He was sitting with his arms propping up his head on the table, and his gentle blue eyes scanned the room under his soft ginger curls. The scars from the worms still gleamed with new flesh, but he looked much better than the last time Jon had seen him.

Jon took a deep breath and cut a way through the winding line of people toward the booth. He could do this. It was _just. Martin._

Martin’s eyes lit up the moment they landed on Jon. He waved shyly, and his movements didn’t hide the small shake in his hands. “Hi, Jon!” he beamed.

Jon settled himself into the booth across from Martin. This was...fine. He could do this. “Hello, Martin,” he replied. “You’re looking much better.”

Martin smiled. “You are, too. It’s good to see you.”

Despite his own misgivings, Jon smiled back. “Likewise.”

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Should we order something?” asked Martin. “This place makes _really_ good cinnamon rolls.”

No, this wouldn’t be a bad thing at all. He needed to unwind, anyway. “That sounds good, Martin.”

* * *

Martin listened to gentle breathing coming from beside his ear. He tugged his arms tighter and nestled his face into soft greying hair.

Jon was alive. Jon hadn’t left him. And now they were resting in the bed in the Archive storage room.

When he’d first heard Jon begin breathing again, he’d thought he was hallucinating. But no, it was real. Very real. Jon was alive, and he was here now, with Martin, laying on top of him and curled up on his stomach like a cat. Martin caressed Jon’s sleeping face and pressed a light kiss into his forehead.

Finding their way out of the tunnels wasn’t as difficult as he’d assumed it would be. It helped that they’d gotten an assist from a certain old man with a few books.

And now he and Jon were here. They were safe. They were together. A quick trip to the hospital hadn’t really helped them much except for confirming that Other Jon and Other Martin were going to be just fine. They didn’t think Jon’s wounds were serious enough for immediate surgery, so Martin had just scheduled something and tied a cloth around Jon’s face. He hoped it wouldn’t be too much of a problem.

Jon’s breathing pattern changed. It seemed lighter--more conscious. “Jon?” he whispered cautiously.

Jon squirmed a bit in his arms. It was the first time he’d woken up since the Panopticon. He probably had no idea what was happening.

“It’s all right, Jon,” Martin said. “It’s me.”

“M-Martin?”

He sounded tired. Scared. It wasn’t the worst Martin had ever heard from the man. And after going for so many hours without hearing him, it was a lovely sound. He smoothed Jon’s hair with his hand and pressed another kiss to his forehead. “I’m here.”

Jon sighed and relaxed onto him. “I don’t suppose we have any painkillers?”

Martin reached down to the floor and picked up the small bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water he’d kept nearby just in case Jon woke up during the night. “Hold out your hand,” he said.

Jon mumbled something under his breath, shuffling and managing to elbow Martin in the stomach. He tried to muffle the small ‘oof’ that slipped out, but Jon still heard it. “Sorry.”

“‘S fine.” He placed a few pills in Jon’s hand and pushed the glass of water into his other. Jon gulped it all down and then settled his head onto Martin’s chest.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice quiet and cautious, like he was afraid of the answer.

Martin snuggled next to him and held him tightly. “It’s over. Jonah is dead. We’re alive.”

“And the world?”

“Looks pretty normal to me.”

Martin felt the curve of Jon’s lips turn up into a smile. “Thank you,” he sighed. “You saved the world, Martin.”

“We both did.”

“No,” he said, picking himself up a bit. Martin knew the look he’d be getting right now if Jon could see him--the one where he pouted and crinkled his forehead and his eyebrows went all slanted and his eyes would blaze so fiercely that he could get lost in their depths. “I couldn’t stop him. You did. Y-you saved me _and_ the world.”

Martin sighed. “I guess maybe I did.”

Jon gave a victorious snort of humour and laid back down. “I can’t feel it anymore,” he said.

“Hm?”

“Beholding. It’s gone. I-I think...I think you really did sever my connection to it.”

Martin’s heart swelled. Could he really have this? Just he and Jon, and nothing but them? No Entities or monsters or creepy-as-hell bosses? “R-really?”

“Yes. Yes, I think I’m...I think I’m free.”

Martin took a deep breath. He breathed in everything that was Jon--the faint smell of his strawberry shampoo and the scent of tea and books and everything else that he’d grown so accustomed to. “I love you,” he said.

It took Jon a moment in his blindness to find Martin’s face, but when he did, he pressed his lips to his and held him there. It was a slow, sweet thing. Just like their love. “I love you too, Martin,” Jon sighed, breaking away.

Martin pulled him back again and kissed him a bit harder. He finally had everything he’d ever wanted. Not a job, not a lot of money, not even a promise of future security, but Jon. All he needed was Jon, and he knew he would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll post the epilogue next week! I promise it will be worth it.


	21. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this adorable epilogue, which is one of the main reasons I wrote this story in the first place! :D

It’d been a few months since the Magnus Institute had mysteriously closed its doors. Some claimed the place had gone bankrupt. Others believed there were more sinister things lurking within its stone walls that had come out and killed the head of the Institute. Even most of the former employees didn’t know the real story.

Tim had gotten a small managerial position at a shop while he figured out what he wanted to do with his life. Jon from the future had explained about the Circus, and how he and his Martin would deal with it when the time came. And Tim was all right with that.

Sasha had found a job as a secretary at a local law firm. She seemed happy.

The younger versions of Jon and Martin were still slowly figuring things out, but Jon was much more open to future dates than he’d expected he would be. After all, Martin was a very sweet man, and he was rather nice to look at. And the other Jon seemed to love his own Martin very much.

Jon and Martin from the now-nonexistent future were figuring things out, as well. They’d managed to acquire some funds from Peter Lukas’s mansion, mostly because Martin still remembered all of Peter’s passcodes, and the man hadn’t changed a thing before or after making Martin his assistant in the previous timeline. He, with the help of Tim, had broken into the mansion and stolen a fairly sizable sum from Lukas’s personal vault. It wasn’t like he was going to be missing it.

Things were going...quite well, all things considered. For all of them.

Jon smiled, the breeze blasting into his face. The sound of rushing water under the bridge and idle chatter filled his ears. The smell of food wafted into his nose. Was that Hungarian food? He laughed, remembering Georgie’s disastrous date with the ‘Hungarian Mountain Man’.

Martin placed his hand on Jon’s, leaning over the railing to watch the water twist and roll beneath them. Jon rested his head on Martin’s shoulder and sighed. “Describe it for me, Martin,” he breathed.

He imagined Martin closing his eyes, a small smile playing on his lips as he tried to think of the words. There would be a small blush on his freckled cheeks. “It’s...the sun is setting, Jon. It’s like it’s painting the sky with all the colours of the rainbow. Mostly orange and pink, but a bit of deep blue and purple at the edges. The water reflects the colours and gives it a life of its own. There’re a few fishes popping out of the water, and there’s a boat headed off away from the bridge. There’s people all around, and...and it’s beautiful, Jon. It’s really- really beautiful. I wish you could see it.”

Jon reached up and played with Martin’s delicate curls, pressing a light kiss to his cheek. This had become their routine; Martin described the scene, and Jon tried to imagine it. It wasn’t hard. He rather enjoyed it. The darkness of blindness was comforting in a strange sort of way. If he ever was allowed to see again, he might fall back to the Beholding. Without his sight, though, he felt more at peace than he had in a long time.

And, of course, there was Martin.

It’d taken quite a while for Jon to convince him that he was all right--that the blindness was okay. It’d taken him a bit longer to get used to it, himself. He’d learned to walk with a cane, and Martin was almost always at his side, guiding him through the throngs of Londoners. He was a bit more hesitant to learn Braille, but only because of what reading had done to him before. Soon, he had promised. He just hadn’t really tried yet.

Of course, once Martin started at uni in the spring, he would probably have to figure it out. It’d taken a lot of convincing him, but they both knew that it would be good for him to have an _actual_ degree. He had certainly liked the idea of pursuing creative writing. And his poetry had actually started to accrue a small following. Leaps and bounds from what it had been before.

“Hey,” Martin whispered. “I um...I wanted to ask you something, if that’s all right?”

Jon nestled into Martin’s shoulder. It was easier to forget that there were other people around them now that he couldn’t see them. “What is it?”

“I-I...well...I um-” he pressed something into Jon’s hand “-you’ve made me really happy, Jon. M-more than I ever thought I _could_ be. A-and I um...I wanted to know if...if we could stay like this? F-forever?”

Jon fingered the small box in his hand. It was soft and velvety. “Martin,” he gasped, “a-are you-?”

“Will you marry me, Jon?”

Time seemed to stop. The murmur of people quieted to a hush. The rush of water silenced. His heartbeat pounded, but it swelled in his chest like it was about to burst out.

_We can be like this forever._

“Yes,” he whispered.

He could _feel_ Martin smiling. “R-really?”

He smacked his boyfriend-- _his fiancé_ \--lightly on the shoulder. “Of course I will! Are you serious!? I-I- Martin, I-!” He didn’t get a chance to finish that sentence, because Martin’s lips suddenly engulfed his. Jon leaned into the kiss, almost dropping the precious box that held their future. He didn’t usually make out with Martin, even when they were alone. They usually only shared soft, tender kisses. But Jon didn’t care about that at the moment, because dammit, he was getting _married_!

If he could still hear Martin’s thoughts like he once had when he belonged to Beholding, he knew it would be filled with joyous ‘ _I love you_ ’s.

When they finally broke apart, a few people were clapping for them. Jon suddenly remembered to be self-conscious, but Martin’s palm caressing his face chased it away in an instant. And then he slipped the ring onto his finger. He kissed his knuckles. “I love you, Jon,” he said.

Jon couldn’t hold back the joyous laughter. The cloth that still shielded his mutilated eyes from the world grew wet with tears. Martin giggled beside him, pressing kisses onto his face.

Jon played with the cool metal band on his finger. It wasn’t large or obtrusive--he didn’t even think there was a stone set in it. It was...just what he would want.

He reached into his jacket pocket and felt a box that was rather similar to the one Martin had pushed into his hand. “I-I have something for you, too, Martin,” he said.

Martin paused his kisses, and Jon could feel him staring intently at the shy smile he couldn’t keep down. “Oh?”

He pulled out the box and let Martin look at it for a moment. “I erm...I had the same idea. I just didn’t know when to ask.”

The two of them stood there in silence for a minute. Martin’s hands closed around Jon’s. “You’re a disaster,” he finally snorted, pulling the velvety box from his hand. Jon heard the latch click open, and Martin gasped. “Oh my God, Jon!”

“D-do you like it?”

“ _Like_ it!? Jon, it’s _exactly_ what I would’ve picked for myself!”

Jon smiled. He, of course, had never actually _seen_ the ring, but he knew what it looked like. Tim had described it to him when they’d taken the trip to the jeweler’s. He’d said that it was silver, with a single bright green emerald set in the center. Apparently it looked a bit like Jon’s eyes once had. He’d known that it was what he had to get for Martin right away.

And then Martin was kissing him again. He certainly seemed to enjoy doing that. Not that Jon minded; he wasn’t exactly interested in anything further than that. But they _were_ in public. And that bout of laughter nearby sounded _awfully_ familiar.

Martin grumbled in annoyance when Jon pulled away a bit quicker than he would have otherwise. “I believe we’re being watched,” Jon explained, indicating with his head at the source of the laughter.

“Dammit, Tim,” Martin muttered. Then he shouted, “We were having a moment, guys! Go away!”

That only made Tim laugh harder, and Sasha’s laughter joined in.

“I cannot believe,” Tim giggled, “how well that went.”

“Martin, _please_ tell me he’s not recording this,” Jon sighed.

“Too late, boss,” Tim said. Jon could hear his snide grin, and if he weren’t so giddy, it might have peeved him a bit. “This is getting sent to everyone you know, _including_ your alternate selves.”

“You _cannot_ do that to them, Tim!” Martin cried. “As if they’re not already complete messes knowing about us dating! Imagine how poorly Jon will react!”

“Yeah, it’ll be hilarious. Kind of like how _both_ of you guys asked me to help find a ring.”

“He almost spoiled it, too,” Sasha laughed. “When Jon came to him, he _genuinely_ almost said that Martin had asked him for help!”

“Thank God I didn’t! This was _way_ funnier!”

“And plus, you got them both what they wanted.”

“Clearly, I am God’s gift to my idiot gay friends.”

Jon facepalmed, and he heard Martin sigh into his hands.

“If I’m not the best man at this wedding, I’ll be _severely_ disappointed,” Tim continued.

“Hey Sasha,” Martin said, “want to be best woman? I think Tim just got uninvited.”

They all burst into laughter. Jon wished he could see them, but he knew just what they looked like, he was sure. Tim’s dimples would be out for all to see, and his smooth tan skin would crinkle up with humour until he started crying with laughter. Sasha would take off her glasses and giggle into her hand, wiping her face and hiding shyly away so no one else would see her expression. Martin would be grinning from ear to ear, playing with the ring that now rested on his finger.

And with a start, Jon realised that he had everything that he had ever wanted. The future seemed brighter than it ever had before, and he would be sharing it with Martin.

He stood on his toes and kissed Martin’s cheek. Everything would work out; he was certain of it.

And he was happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been quite the ride, my friends. This story was a ton of fun to write, especially after a massive pile of writers' block for the several months prior. I've still got a few more ideas for different AUs and the like, including a 5+1 with Tim trying to get Jon and Martin together followed by another that shows it all from _their_ perspective, and there's still that one I had where Prentiss attacked earlier than in canon that I've been procrastinating due to a quarantine-induced slump. I absolutely love TMA and I can't wait to see how it all ends (even if it will literally break me).
> 
> If you'd like to see some other things that I write, I'm going to try being a bit more active on my [writing blog](https://mslynnwrites.tumblr.com) at least for the summer months ahead. Seeing as I'm currently unemployed and also officially done with my 2nd year of uni, I hope to be able to get back to my original writings soon. We'll see how that goes, but honestly I missed my _original_ gay sons, and writing Jon and Martin has been a blessing for writing cute relationships.
> 
> So give me a follow over on tumblr, and maybe you'll like some of the other stuff I do! Again, I'm glad you've all been with me through this honestly refreshing fic! I love you all and your support so much, and hope you're having a wonderful day! ^-^


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